


Favored Childe

by FierceOfMind



Series: Harry Potter and the Six [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry is their Childe, I have vague plans, M/M, Powerful Harry, Reincarnation, Saving the World, Smart Harry, The Deathly Hallows, The Six are immortal beings who created the world, Tired of Your Shit Dumbledore - Harry, Wish me luck, but I'm mostly making this up as I go along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-14 08:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 36,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11779470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FierceOfMind/pseuds/FierceOfMind
Summary: After the end of the world Harry is given a mission to go back and save the world and his Soulmate--who happens to be Voldemort!?He is thrust into his fifteen month old body just in time to take an AK to the face, and now he has to grow up all over again. Harry must figure out how to prevent a war with the muggles and how to piece Voldemort back together.He just wanted to rest in peace!





	1. Rest in Peace, Please!

**Author's Note:**

> Standard Disclaimer: This is just a fic. Non-profit and for funzies. No beta. All mistakes are me.
> 
> This also has a prequel which is pretty short and that I suggest you read to maybe clarify some things. It's called Death's Diary. You should be able to manage this story just fine without it, but it will provide some world building info.

Prologue

 

Harry found himself suddenly awake in a familiar white train station. It couldn’t be the real King’s Cross, the Mundanes—as the muggles had demanded to be called, before everything went to hell, when they found out about the Wizarding World and wanted something less demeaning,—had bombed the station on first of September hoping to wipe out the ‘devil spawn’ before they could get to school. It had been before the Mundanes had created technology that could defeat wards so the Wizarding children were safely evacuated but the station was still destroyed.

He wondered, peering at the too clean whiteness around him, if he would see Dumbledore again. He hoped not. Harry had long ago come to terms with Dumbledore basically raising him to die, but after living through the horrors of the Mundane-Magical war he was not in the mood to hear the old man’s pro-muggle beliefs.

Harry stood and wished for some clothes. He was not as modest as he had been, modesty had no place in the war, and he didn’t care much about his nude body, but he still wanted to be clothed to face what was coming. Something was coming, he could feel it. His gut instinct, it had been called, but it had never let him down. His intuition had saved his life and the lives of those with him hundreds of times. Though that was before he had realized he couldn’t die, or at least couldn’t stay dead.

After he had embraced his role as the ‘Master of Death’ Harry had volunteered for all the suicide missions: breaking into laboratories, military bases, camps—anywhere he could go to free Magicals he went. He had saved many people, though in the end it had all been for nothing. The Mundane weapons had destroyed the world, made it uninhabitable even for themselves. People had started to die off from starvation and radiation sickness. Towards the end of things Magicals and Mundanes weren’t even fighting each other anymore they were just trying to survive.

Harry was pushed out of his musings by the sudden presence of six beings behind him. He turned and couldn’t help but gape. They were strange to him, but he Knew them somehow. Some deep part of him recognized them. His tense shoulders relaxed, and for the first time in ages he felt at peace. He studied the beings in front of him. Their identities flowing from deep in his subconscious.

The first to catch his attention were the pair of twins. His heart ached just looking at them, reminded of Fred and George. George had never been the same after the loss of his twin, how could he? He had managed to make himself a family. Marrying Angela Johnson and having two kids: Fred and Roxanne, but during the war with the Mundanes he had lost even them. After that, George had taken crazier and crazier missions until one day he just didn’t come back. These twins though were not exactly identical like Fred and George had been.

Order, his mind told him, was dressed in a pristine three-piece suit. His light brown hair was straight and neatly combed, not a strand out of place. There was not a speck of dust on him, even his black loafers seemed to shine in the brightness of the station. In contrast, his brother, Chaos, was a wreck. He was dressed in torn, dirty jeans and a dark blue hoodie. His hair was tussled in the just-rolled-out-of-bed way. He wore a pair of old sneakers that were heavily scuffed.

Next to them stood a young girl, Luck. She had unnatural baby-blue eyes that sparkled with mischievousness. Her hair was up in braided pig-tails half of it was pure white while the other half was vibrant purple. As he watched she pulled a pack of cards out of one of the pockets on the overalls she was wearing and began doing complicated shuffles. Her feet were clad only in a pair of mismatched socks.

Beside her stood a young woman dressed in a smart business suit. She was Fate, he recognized with some trepidation, after all, Fate had never been kind to him making him the chosen one of a prophecy that had ruined his life. She regarded him with sharply angled eyes. One was a dull yellow and the other a pale green; both were slit vertically by the pupil, like a cat. Her black hair was pulled out of her face in a bun tighter than even McGonagall’s had been.

On the other side of her stood a being he knew in his very blood, Lady Magic. She reminded him a lot of Luna, before the war. The Lady had an ethereal beauty. She was a fair blonde, almost to the point of having white hair. Sticking out between the pale tresses were two delicate, pointed ears. Above her high cheek bones were her pupil-and-iris-less eyes. They were just a swirling expanse of white. She wore a full length dress that seemed made out of crystal and water. It flowed around her on invisible waves.

Last, but not least stood the only splash of darkness in the white hall of King’s Cross. It was Death, shrouded in night, boney thin. Harry couldn’t see his face, only two pinpricks of light like distant stars. Idly he looked for a scythe, not really surprised to not find one. Part of him was overwhelmed, yet still a larger part wondered if he had finally died. Maybe now he could rest in the afterlife with his family and forget about the war.

 **We are sorry, young Harry** , the being called Fate spoke, only her mouth didn’t move. It was as if her voice echoed from everywhere, **You have gone through so much, more perhaps than any other Soul. We apologize for this, but there was no other way.**

“Excuse me,” he interrupted, part of him screaming that he had clearly gone insane while the other part of him knew that they would never hurt him, “My whole life has been one mess after the other, and now you pull me here to tell me that you’re sorry! All my life I’ve been nothing but your little bi—“

 **We had hoped you would save the world** spoke Order and Chaos, their voices perfectly in sync causing Harry’s angry words to die in his throat.

“Great, then I obviously failed,” Harry despaired, looks like he had let more than his family down, he had failed the entire bloody world!

 **Not at all, youngling** Luck giggled still shuffling her deck.

 **It is we who failed** continued Lady Magic **We are timeless beings and have known the end of the world we had created. Our attempts to correct the path all failed. But due to some unforeseen circumstances there may yet be a chance.**

“What kind of circumstances,” Harry asked, wary now, shoulders rising again in tension.

Death raised his arm, and Harry gasped taking an involuntary step forward. Clasped gently in Death’s thin, skeletal hand was an orb. Harry’s entire being filled with longing to hold it as if this thing could finally complete the huge hole that had been with him since—

“That’s Riddle’s soul,” Harry exclaimed. He knew, had always been able to sense the bits and pieces of Riddles soul; now, complete, it was almost overwhelming. It had been one of Harry’s greatest secrets, the hole in his being where he was sure Riddle’s horcrux had once been. Part of him had missed it, much to his disgust, but he couldn’t help the longing that filled him even now.

 **The Dark Lord made you his Soulmate** Death said, still holding out the man’s soul as if offing for him to take it.

“W- what!? That can’t be,” Harry stuttered. He wanted to strongly deny it, yet part of him Knew, had always Known that he and Voldemort had been more deeply connected than anybody could have guessed. It was a bit of the reason why he had dated and then married Ginny. She too bore the scars of carrying a piece of Riddle’s soul, though it had taken years for him to admit it, if just to himself. Still it hadn’t been enough. His marriage had been falling apart years before the outbreak of the Mundane-Magic war.

 **You are connected to the Dark Lord, though you were not ‘born’ this way** Fate continued, catty eyes watching him **He tied you two together the night he tried to kill you when you were a babe.**

 **Using this connection, we can send you back to the same time, allowing you to remember what all other souls forget** Death said, finally dropping his hand. Riddle’s soul didn’t disappear though. It stayed afloat and slowly made its way towards Harry. He wanted to turn away, but couldn’t

“Forget?” Harry asked, more to distract himself from the desire to reach out and ‘pet’ Riddle’s soul.

 **We place souls into new times after Death brings them back** Luck spoke, sitting down on the ground and starting to build a house of cards **They come here and remember, then go back and forget.**

 **We will place you in the same time were your soul already exists** said Chaos as he knelt down to help Luck with her house.

 **This will allow you to remember** Order continued seamlessly **You will go back to the moment yours and his soul bonded. The first time Death brushed you by. It will help the merging of your ‘present’ soul with its ‘past’ incarnation.**

“You want me to go back and try to save the world when I failed to do so in the first place,” Harry asked incredulously. In his distraction, one of his hands rose up and gently caressed Riddle’s. It was a shock to his system of Whole. Complete. One. Together. He gasped but couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

 **You must** Fate said, prowling forward a step **All those souls who suffered. Were torn and damaged, ravaged by war. We need you to stop it.**

“I just want to rest,” said Harry, voice laden with exhaustion, “to see my family. Get to know my mum and dad. Why is it always me?” He asked not really expecting an answer.

 **Because you are special** Lady Magic replied, her white eyes catching and holding his in their fathomless gaze **You are as Bright as he** here she nodded towards Riddle’s Soul **is Dark. You are Favored to Us. As much our childe as any can ever be.**

“Can’t I spend just a little time to rest,” Harry asked, not quite begging, but close.

 **We are sorry** Order said, pulling out a pocket watch that Harry had just now noticed and clicking it open **The longer you remain here the less chance the Merge will work.**

Harry could only sigh. Curse his people saving thing, he thought, already ready to agree. If he could save them, his friends and family. All the Magical and Mundanes who had died so violently he would do it.

As if sensing his agreement Death lifted a hand and made a soft beckoning motion. Riddle’s Soul slowly made its way back as if it was reluctant to leave his side. Harry couldn’t say that he didn’t feel the same as he watched it leave. The longing was back, and the emptiness.

 **You will save your Soulmate** Death said as the others moved to encircle Harry.

“Er, what,” he asked distracted from the loss of Riddle’s Soul.

 **You will save your Soulmate** Death patiently repeated **It is the only way to save the world. He must be complete. You must heal him.**

“How do you expect me to do that,” Harry demanded, “You forget he spent most of his time trying to kill me!”

It was Lady Magic who answered **We will aid you when the time comes.**

“But that doesn’t answer how—,” Harry responded, beyond exasperated.

 **There is no time** Order interrupted.

 **We have one more quest for you to undertake** Chaos added.

“Oh, there’s something else you need me to do besides save the whole bloody world!” Harry said, teeth almost grinding.

 **We ask that you free the souls that have been imprisoned in those abominations you call Dementors** Death said, for the first time sounding angry, the others shifted in agitation.

“And how am I supposed to do that,” Harry asked their actions intriguing him, “No one’s been able to kill a Dementor.”

 **The Hallows** Death said **It is their true purpose. The cloak will protect you. The stone will release the Souls. The wand will destroy those monsters.**

Harry had very little time to absorb that fact before a snickering Luck called from behind him **Good Luck!**

 

The next thing Harry knew his vision was filled with a sickly green light and two ominous words ringing in his ears, “ _Avada Kedavra!”_


	2. In Which Killing Curses Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are not adding up after the attack on the Potters.

Chapter One

 

_The next thing Harry knew his vision was filled with a sickly green light and two ominous words ringing in his ears, “Avada Kedavra!”_

* * *

 

 

Harry’s first coherent thought was _Ow._ Getting hit by the killing curse for the third—first? time hurt. He felt white hot pain carve into his forehead. Tears momentarily blinded him, and he couldn’t stop the cry that tore out his throat. A moment later Harry was distracted from his pain by the all too familiar feeling now centering over the source of his agony. A soothing coolness spread where he knew his cursed lightning bolt scar to now be.

The shard of Voldemort’s soul.

He could finally admit to himself it felt wonderful to have that hole filled again. Harry opened his eyes which he hadn’t even realized were closed. He’d stopped wailing, but it appeared that his fifteen-month old body was still greatly affected with unstoppable hiccupping and sniffling. He did not like being in his infantile body, but he put aside those thoughts and looked around him.

The first thing he saw was his mother’s dead body. Her vibrant red hair was wreathed around her head. Her eyes—which he noted in the back of his mind as indeed matching his—were dull and sightless. For a moment grief and frustration consumed him. He was angry he hadn’t been allowed to rest and to meet with Lily and James and Sirius and Remus and all his friends who had passed in the Mundane-Magical War.

Now he was tasked with a seemingly impossible mission. Harry was to save the world and somehow return his Soulmate—who wanted him dead!—to sanity. Oh, and he was to destroy the Dementors; which meant he had to collect all of the Hallows again. For a moment Harry felt his shoulders sag with exhaustion. He had already fought two wars.

Why me, was his foremost thought.

A sudden thudding on what must be the stairs turned his attention away from his maudlin thoughts, and Harry looked up just in time to see Severus Snape collapsing in front of his mother—face a rictus of loss. He observed as the man he had come to respect in his previous life broke down.

Snape gathered up his mother and began gently rocking her begging for her to wake up, for it not to be true, and apologizing again and again.

Harry watched on in silence something like pity settling in his chest. Looking at the young Snape in front of him and comparing him to his memories of Snape when he had entered Hogwarts in his previous life he could tell the coming years would not be kind to the potions professor. The loss of Lily would be a grief that Snape would carry heavily for the rest of his life—had carried once before.

Never one to let those around him suffer and not much thinking for the consequences Harry called out to Snape.

Or he tried to.

It came out more as, “Sev.”

Harry mentally cursed his young body, but he did manage to get Snape’s attention. Black eyes, like tunnels snapped up to meet his shock clearly written in their depths. Harry realized he had no idea what to do now and cursed his Gryffindor tendency to act without thinking. He’d thought he had gotten over that in the war with the Mundanes.

Panicking over what to do now, Harry was saved from further foolishness by the loud roaring sound of a motorcycle and the familiar voice of his godfather downstairs.

Still staring at Snape, Harry was able to see the flash of hatred towards his godfather before the man gently released his mother and stood. Snape gave him one last, puzzled look before turning on his heel and disapparating with a loud _CRACK_ moments later there were heavy footfalls on the stairs before Sirius burst into the room.

Harry took a moment to study his godfather while the man searched the room for threats. He was about as young looking as Harry remembered from the old Order photo he’d seen back in fifth year—healthy without the years of Azkaban and Dementor torture.

Sirius’s sob brought Harry back to the present. His godfather had laid eyes on Lily and was now leaning against the doorframe looking devastated. With all the debris from his ruined nursery, which Harry was now noticing for the first time, Sirius couldn’t see him from the doorway. There was a bit of collapsed ceiling blocking the man’s view. Harry could just make out his godfather, but he didn’t think in his rush and grief that Sirius had spotted him.

He called out to his godfather hoping to catch the man’s attention, but to his frustration all that came out was, “Pa’foo.”

However, it was enough. Hope lit up the steel, blue eyes. Sirius rushed over to the crib kicking portions of wall and ceiling out of his way and ignoring the pile of ash that still seemed out of place in the wrecked room.

“Harry,” he cried when he laid eyes on little Harry miraculously alive, “oh, Prongslet.”

Sirius swooped up Harry clutching him tight as tears fell from his eyes, “You’re alive, you’re alive.”

Harry tried to wipe the tears away but with his younger body only managed to pat the other man’s face. He was worried his godfather would completely break down but the _POP_ of a portkey outside snapped the older man out of it.

Sirius’s grip tightened on his wand and he quickly tucked Harry securely into his side. He grabbed a blanket from the crib draping it over his godson’s head probably hoping to protect him from the disturbing images of his parents’ bodies. Harry felt Sirius slowly make his way downstairs. A chill in the air let him know that they were outside.

Harry finally wrestled the blanket of his head glad he had enough dexterity to manage that much. Both man and babe caught sight of the unmistakably large form standing out on the lawn. Sirius relaxed a bit recognizing Hagrid. He stepped away from the house rearranging the blanket to protect Harry from the October weather.

“Sirius,” came Hagrid’s unique accent, “Dumbledore sent me to investigate some alarms going off.”

How odd, thought Harry even as Sirius responded voice tinged with grief.

“James and Lily are dead.”

Why only send Hagrid, Harry wondered. If alarms were going off it probably meant someone was attacking the Potters, and Hagrid having been expelled from Hogwarts wouldn’t be able to fend off any kind of attack.

Sirius who was still flooded by loss didn’t seem to find Hagrid’s presence odd. His godfather seemed to be going into shock.

“They should have been safe. The fidelius charm should have,” he rambled, “only Peter…”

Uh-oh, Harry thought, he couldn’t let Sirius go off and get himself sent to Azkaban again.

“Pa’foo,” he called trying to derail his godfather’s current train of thought.

It seemed to work and the man looked down at him almost with surprise.

“Harry, I need to…” Sirius cut off, once again looking grief-stricken and lost, “I need to look after Harry now.

Harry felt relief for all of a moment.

Then Hagrid spoke up, “Dumbledore told me to bring Harry to him if something had happened.”

No, Harry thought at the same time Sirius spoke, “No, I’m his godfather. James and Lily would have wanted me to take care of him.”

“It’s Dumbledore’s orders,” Hagrid persisted, “Little Harry ought to be checked out anyway. That ain’t no ordinary cut on his forehead.”

Sirius didn’t look too convinced, but he did glance with concern at Harry’s forehead noting the jagged lightning bolt that hadn’t been there before.

“Dumbledore told me if I saw ya to ask you to go check on Peter,” said Hagrid. “He’s afraid something might have happened to him. Dumbledore can take good care of the little tyke for a bit.”

Harry and Sirius’s eyes narrowed in suspicion though both for different reasons. Harry was wondering how Dumbledore was aware of so much and yet hadn’t come himself. The naive young boy he’d been had long ago disappeared and he was becoming suspicious of the whole situation.

Sirius on the other hand was once again focusing on the matter of Peter Pettigrew and some of the well-known Black insanity was settling in his eyes.

“I supposed I could quickly check on my _friend_ ,” he said, gently shifting Harry into Hagrid’s large hands.

“No,” Harry cried, “Pa’foo!”

“Shhh little Prongslet.” Sirius shushed. “I have to go rat hunting real quick,” there was a mad gleam in his eye, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“No,” Harry tried again. He couldn’t let Sirius leave!

“Er, right,” said Hagrid searching through his huge pockets and easily juggling a wriggling Harry, “where did I put that portkey?”

“Use my motorbike,” said Sirius tossing the keys to the half-giant. “Fly it and you should make it to Dumbledore in a couple of hours.”

“Thanks,” Hagrid said gratefully.

“Pa’foo,” Harry called, but it was too late. With a sharp turn and a _CRACK_ Sirius Black disapparated.

Harry began to wail knowing his godfather’s fate was sealed.

“Alright there, Little Harry,” Hagrid said as he climbed onto the motorcycle and soon sending them into the sky.

 

Towards the Dursley’s Harry realized with dread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just can't do Hagrid's accent. It would have killed me. Probably.


	3. Petunia and Vernon and Dudley. Oh, my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your responses to this story!!! I glad so many of you are pumped. I'll try to keep my momentum going, but I'm in my last year of college soooo....  
> Anyway, enjoy this next chapter!!!

Chapter Two

 

_Harry began to wail knowing his godfather’s fate was sealed._

_“Alright there, Little Harry,” Hagrid said as he climbed onto the motorcycle and soon sent them into the sky._

_Towards the Dursley’s Harry realized with dread._

* * *

Harry passed out about thirty minutes into the flight. Hagrid had tucked him into his giant coat and even with the winds and chill from the flying motorcycle he was warm. The previous events had finally caught up to Harry. Dying. Meeting the Six (which is what he’s going to call them). Returning to an AK in the face. All but losing Sirius again. And perhaps most importantly, becoming a Horcrux once more. It all culminated into an exhaustion from which he was abruptly awoken from by a sound he’d hoped to never hear again. 

Aunt Petunia’s shriek.

Followed by the front door of Number Four slamming shut.

They actually left him on the doorstep, Harry thought in shock. He was beginning to believe wizards really had no common sense—leaving a baby outside, at night, for who knows how long. Dumbledore hadn’t even the decency to inform his aunt as to the fate of her sister in person!

How rude.

The next thing Harry knew his vision was filled by a walrus on legs. Commonly known as Vernon Dursley.

Vernon quickly glanced around, probably to ensure none of the neighbors were watching before snatching him up and hurriedly shutting the door.

The inside of Number Four was exactly how he remembered it, maybe lacking some of the modern appliances, but at its core it was the same. His Uncle placed him on the kitchen table while his aunt rushed around closing all the blinds. Once they were sure none of the nosy neighbors would be able to peek in his relatives stood across the room watching him as if he had some sort of disease.

Harry who was quite used to this behavior stared right back. Finally his Aunt gathered her wits enough to approach and snatch up the letter which had been tucked into his blanket. She hurried back over to Vernon and they both turned their nose up at the parchment envelope even as they opened it to read its contents.

Harry could only watch in fascination as his uncle’s face became a livid purple. He’d forgotten how plum Vernon could get. Aunt Petunia on the other hand was becoming paler and paler as she read the letter. Her hand was barley holding it steady.

“He’ll not be staying,” his uncle finally burst out. “I’ll not have one of those freaks living under my roof—”

“Vernon, please, you’ll wake our little Diddydums,” his aunt interrupted.

Harry rolled his eyes. He’d forgotten about the ickle nicknames she’d given Dudley. Still, at least she’d managed to quiet the man.

Whispering furiously now, Vernon continued, “If that crack-pot old fool thinks he can force us to keep the blasted boy, he has another thing coming!”

“But, Vernon, dear,” Petunia simpered. “If we send him away more of those you-know-whats might show up looking for him. The letter says if we take him in we’ll be left alone.”

His uncle moved now to embrace his aunt, and Harry wrinkled his nose. Gross.

“But Pet,” he simpered, sounding like a squealing pig, “Think of Dudders. We can’t allow one of their kind around our precious boy. You can already tell he’ll turn out like one of _them._ ”

Both Vernon and Petunia glanced his way and shuddered when they met his gaze.

“Such an unnatural stare,” Aunt Petunia whispered.

Vernon was emboldened by her unease and pressed forward, “What if the neighbors find out about his freakishness?”

Harry’s aunt seemed alarmed and he huffed. Oh yes, he thought, what would the neighbors say indeed. He, himself, was in conflict. The idea of being stuck with the Dursleys for another ten years sounded horrifying, but he wasn’t so sure he wanted to be sent to an orphanage. Having to deal with Dudley and his gang growing up was bad enough, dealing with a whole bunch of cruel children sounded a nightmare. Better the evil he knew.

His aunt came to a decision giving one last glance at Dumbledore’s letter.

“We’ll have to keep him,” she said. Petunia raised her hand to halt his uncle’s coming argument. “You don’t know what they are capable of. If we send the boy away they’ll find him and bring him back. Next time they might be more forceful,” she shuddered. “I remember that horrid boy I used to live near telling my sister about the most unnatural creatures. We can’t allow that near our pumpkin. At least if we take the boy we won’t have to deal with the rest of those _freaks_.”

She said the last with so much hatred even Vernon was shocked, but her vehemence convinced him.

“Very well, Pet,” he agreed, “but I’ll not allow him to get away with any funny business. We’ll beat the freakishness out of him if we have to.”

They would try, Harry thought. This time around things would be different. Harry was fully aware of his magic for one, and two he was no longer a child (at least mentally).

Suddenly the tense silence of the house was broken by a wail upstairs. Diddydums was awake and throwing his morning tantrum for attention. Aunt Petunia rushed upstairs even as Uncle Vernon swore and fled out the door realizing he was running late for work.

Harry was left alone on the kitchen table. He sighed. Looks like he was going to be stuck at Durzkaban for the next few years. Oh joy.

* * *

 

_It was the Muggleborns who suffered most when the Muggles discovered them. The Purebloods were safe in their mansions and enclaves. Even the half-bloods had places to go to hide from the muggle masses. The Muggleborns were alone. Often with no one to turn to in the face of the muggle mob._

_There was chaos from the very beginning. Some worshiped magicals as gods while others decried us as evil, devil-spawn. Wonder. Awe. Skepticism. Disbelief. Could we cure this ailment? Make a flower bloom? Conjure a rabbit out of a hat?_

_Once the wonder faded away came the fear. They became afraid of us when they learned we could kill with mere words, bend their minds to our will, erase their memories—if we wanted. With magic anything was possible, and the muggles did not have much defense against it._

_So the muggles turned to their science and the wizarding world ignored the signs of danger and the growing hate of the muggles. They sneered at the muggles’ attempts, for how could their machines hope to compare to magic? The purebloods especially stuck their heads in the sand. Muggleborn children were being lynched for any sign of accidental magic. Once loving parents would turn out their magical child in fear and hate. If they were lucky they’d be picked up by a fellow magical. Many died or were killed. Many more disappeared to places unknown._

_Harry had tried to get the magical community to act, to see the dangers lurking in the future. When that failed he tried to save as many people as possible. His friends helped but they were so few. So many children suffered. Obscurials cropped up everywhere, and the destruction they caused led to more fear and hate, more violence._

_Magicals had stagnated for so long it was their undoing. The Wizarding World was slow to act and ill equipped to handle Muggle advancement. They used their technology to find the Wizarding places like the Ministry, St. Mungos, the platform at Kings Cross, and even the Leaky Cauldron—the entrance to Diagon Alley. At first the wards kept them out, but the Muggles were determined and their science and technology got better and better._

_They bombed Hogwarts._

_The castle was completely destroyed. The school had been in session. Harry lost all of his children._

_He was one of the first to arrive at the ruined castle, and he knew he would never forget the image of the blackened husk of what had always been his first home. The magical backlash from the destruction of Hogwarts had flattened the Forbidden Forest for miles around, the Black Lake had boiled out, and it even destroyed Hogsmeade. The magical death toll was unimaginable._

_The next couple of weeks passed in a numb blur for Harry as he and several others dug through the wreckage. There was no hope of finding survivors. Some of the bodies needed magic to be identified. Almost as bad were those bodies of the people who had been in the dungeons. They’d been safe from the initial bombing, but when the castle collapsed those souls had been trapped and asphyxiated by the smoke and fumes._

_He’d found what was left of James and Lily in the remains of Gryffindor Tower. The only thing that had survived was his old invisibility cloak which he’d gifted to James for Christmas his first year much to Ginny’s protests. All he remembered of that day was grasping the cloak and sobbing. Three days later he found Albus entombed in the dungeons body mostly intact but bloated with decay._

_He buried him next to his siblings and left._


	4. Look At Me, I Am the Captain Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. I have a new respect for writers who update on anything like a regular schedule. Cause its hard. But! I will persist until I'm drowning in school work and unable to do so.
> 
> Also, the response to this story has been awesome. Cookies to all who kudos/subscribed/bookmarked. I'm glad ya'll like this made-up-as-I-go-along-but-still-managing-to-go-okay-story.

Chapter Three

 

_Harry was left alone on the kitchen table. He sighed. Looks like he was going to be stuck at Durzkaban for the next few years. Oh joy._

 

* * *

Harry had been thrown into the cupboard under the stairs by his harried aunt and all but forgotten. He was not surprised to find himself staring at the underside of the steps of Number Four, or at least what he remembered them to look like as there was no light in his old ‘room’.

He took a moment to contemplate how much he had not missed the dust and spiders before deciding he was not going to spend the next ten-ish years locked away like a dirty secret. Harry might be trapped in a child’s body but his magic was just as powerful as it had been when he died. During the Mundane-Magical War he had mastered wandless magic because wands were the first thing taken from a captured magical.

After a bit of struggle he managed to stand and shuffle towards the cupboard door thanking every step that he was able to walk. A silent _Alohomora_ unlocked the door so it only took a shove before he was standing in the hallway peering into the kitchen. His Aunt was busy feeding the blond beach ball that was his cousin.

Both were covered in what looked to be oatmeal and as he watched Dudley took a fistful of mush and hurled it right into Petunia’s face. Harry laughed causing his aunt to whirl around.

She actually screamed startling Dudley into red-faced wailing. He rolled his eyes even as his aunt quickly got over her surprise and took a step towards him probably to shove him back into the cupboard.

“No,” he commanded, and she actually stopped eyes widening in surprise at the imposing presence emanating from the fifteen-month old in front of her.

Before Petunia could regain her wits Harry raised his hand and wandlessly summoned two bananas from the counter. His aunt gasped and moved to stand in front of the still crying Dudley as if to protect him from the magic. He wanted to scoff; between them, the Dursley’s had caused him far more pain and heartache than he had ever done to them.

“F-freak,” his aunt managed to stutter. She was standing pale faced and shaking with a hand clutched over her heart as if to ward away evil.

Harry’s response was to raise an eyebrow which only served to unnerve his aunt more. Finally, he’d had enough of the standoff and left the kitchen to make his way upstairs. The baby gate at the base of the stairs to prevent ickle Diddykins from breaking his neck was easy enough to get through with some magic. The stairs were a physically harder challenge, but after a few frustrating minutes he managed to make it to the second floor.

He wandered into the smallest bedroom to find it littered with Dudley’s broken toys. Harry could only shake his head at how little would change in Number Four before shutting the door. His face beaded with sweat as he wandlessly placed a muggle repelling ward on the door before turning to face the messy room.

There was no bed or dresser just piles of junk, and in one corner there appeared to be a heap of Dudley’s old clothes. Harry could also see boxes stacked through the open closet door though right now he didn’t care to find out what was in them.

After carefully making his way through the mess Harry reached the pile of clothes and grabbed the first thing within reach. It was a heavily stained and stretched sailor suit, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the image his cousin would have made in such an outfit.

His face scrunched up as he transfigured the poor outfit into a toddler sized mattress. When Harry finished he was panting with exertion. His little fifteen month old body was not used to handling the influx of magic and he quickly laid down as exhaustion washed over him.

He would have to build up his magical stamina from scratch. Harry huffed a breath, not looking forward to the hours of work he’d have to put into that, but he knew it would be necessary. His attention turned to the two bananas he’d taken from the kitchen.

Fifteen minutes were spent trying to get his clumsy fingers to peel it before he gave up and used a small cutting spell. Harry quickly ate his stolen treasure before laying the second banana beside his transfigured mattress for later. Experience with the Dursleys plus memories of food shortages from the war had taught him to hoard food when possible.

His actions that first day would set the tone for the next couple of years. He would hole up in the smallest bedroom while Vernon was home not wanting to test his wandless magic against the brutality of the man while it was still so taxing. Harry was well aware by now of the dangers posed by a fearful, magic hating muggle.

Once his uncle left for work Harry would go downstairs to grab some food while his aunt maintained a fearful distance. For the weekends he would save up food so he didn’t chance an encounter with his uncle. They’d even tried to lock things up. The first time he’d seen the locks, he’d laughed before a simple _Alohomora_ unlocked everything. Petunia had refused to look at him after that, and would always leave the room with Dudley whenever he walked in.

Harry wasn’t bothered by the state of affairs. He didn’t try to bond with his relations. He knew that ship was sunk before it sailed. The only downside to staying in his room all the time was the boredom, but even that served its purpose. He stretched his magic constantly; slowly but surely rebuilding his magical endurance.

One day, exhausted from magic practice and desperate to break the monotony Harry searched through the boxes in the closet. He made a valuable find. Books. Old college text books. There were books on maths, literature, business, philosophy, and politics. With no real muggle secondary education most of the subject matter was above his head; however, he had more than enough time to work things out. In a move that would have made Hermione proud Harry settled down to study.

When he was physically seven Harry felt confident enough to face Vernon. He chose a Sunday about two weeks after his birthday and came down for dinner. His uncle had been boisterously bragging about a contract he’d managed to snag for Grunnings, the drill company he worked at, when Harry stepped into the dining room and sat at the table.

Immediate silence fell as Harry summoned a plate and helped himself to some of the bangers and mash. Even seven year old Dudley, now the size of a baby whale, was quiet. Harry nonchalantly dug in as he watched his uncle turn an unbecoming shade of violet and the bristles of his mustache stick straight out in rage.

“NOW SEE HERE—”

With a swift gesture of his hand Harry silenced him making sure to bind his uncle with conjured ropes and stick the chair to the floor. His aunt went pale even has Vernon swelled with pent up rage. His eyes were swiveling about the whites clearly visible. Dudley’s mouth was hanging wide open head swinging back and forth between his father and cousin.

Harry finished eating before carefully lifting a napkin to wipe at the corners of his mouth. Then he turned to face his silent relatives.

“I hope,” he said gesturing to his bound uncle who was futilely struggling against the ropes, “that I have managed to impress upon you who exactly holds the power here.”

He stared at his aunt who gave a jerky nod eyes shifting uneasily between her nephew and husband only occasionally glancing at her son in concern.

“Good,” Harry said, calling her attention back to him, “I have been happy to stay out of your way these past six years, and I will be happy to do so until I get my Hogwarts letter—”

His aunt gasped and he couldn’t help but scoff, “Yes, I know all about Hogwarts, and the Wizarding World, and magic. Even if I didn’t, do you honestly think you could have kept such information from me? My letter would have come. It was stupid of you to think you could hide my magic from me, or even _beat_ it out of me.”

“How did you—” His aunt started, but a twitch of his hand silenced her. Harry almost smiled. He hadn’t even used magic. It was a bit of a power trip to see his relatives at his mercy after all the years he’d been at theirs. In his opinion he was being far kinder then they had ever been.

“It doesn’t matter how I know,” he said. “What matters is that until my Hogwarts letter arrives we will continue to ignore each other. After my letter I don’t expect to see any of you again.”

Petunia merely nodded, lips pressed together, but her shoulders slumped in relief. At her acquiescence Harry stood causing them all to flinch. He tipped his head at his uncle maintaining eye contact with his aunt.

“I expect you to keep him in line,” he didn’t wait for a response and made his way towards the door.

Before he left the room he glanced back towards the table. His uncle was still silently struggling, mouth open to yell but no sound escaping. The spells on him would disappear once Harry was back in his room. His cousin was looking confused mouth still hanging open as he switched his gaze between his parents and Harry. His aunt was staring at the table pale faced. Her hands were knotted in a napkin and trembling.

“Oh, Aunt Petunia,” he called and her wary eyes snapped up to meet his, “I came down to tell you I expect to be enrolled in school this year.”

Then he left returning to his own room which now looked much more habitable. He needed to prepare. Harry Potter was going to take the Wizarding World by storm.


	5. A Fae Prince Visits the Goblins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The out-pour of people who enjoy this story is just awesome. Dark-side cookies for all of you.
> 
> I have somehow managed to keep up a weekly update schedule, but once school picks up that might fall to the wayside soooooo.... fair warning.

Chapter Four

 

" _Oh, Aunt Petunia," he called and her wary eyes snapped up to meet his, "I came down to tell you I expect to be enrolled in school this year."_

_Then he left returning to his own room which now looked much more habitable. He needed to prepare. Harry Potter was going to take the Wizarding World by storm._

 

* * *

 Harry was quickly labeled as a genius in school and moved up several grades. The Dursley's only response was relief that he would no longer be in the same class as Dudley. He maintained his isolated lifestyle as none of his classmates were willing to hang out with a little kid, especially not one who was smarter than them.

The loneliness didn't bother him. He'd spent years alone before Hogwarts and again once the war had killed off most of Wizarding kind. Harry had only insisted on school to get out of the smallest bedroom of Number Four. It was also easier to sneak past the prying eyes of Arabella Figg, Dumbledore's spy.

He made a habit of staying out at the library until late in the evening. When the crazy cat-lady asked what he was doing Harry honestly told her where he was spending his time. Two days later and some purloined funds from Aunt Petunia and he was in a cab headed into London. A wandless confundus charm kept the cabbie from asking any questions about taking a child.

The Boy-Who-Lived made sure to buy a cap to cover his famous scar and unruly Potter hair. He also brought with him one of Dudley's old coats which was large enough to look like a robe before he made his way to Charring Cross Road and the Leaky Cauldron. Harry pushed inside and made straight for the back, not making eye contact with anyone.

He stopped before the entrance to Diagon Alley and tapped the bricks with his finger making sure to release a little magic to gain access. The next moment Harry was assaulted with noise and color. His eyes hungrily took in the scenic street before him. It had been so long since he had seen the British Wizarding World's shopping center in one piece, about as long since he'd seen so many wizards and witches alive and happy.

Harry took a fortifying breath. He would preserve this. He swore it. The young seeming boy entered the busy crowds and made his way straight to Gringotts. Without hesitation he marched up the steps of the white marble building. Upon seeing the two goblin guards on either side of the doorway Harry bared his teeth and laid his clenched left fist over his stomach while keeping his right straight at his side.

The guards were momentarily shocked before returning the gesture and then bowing Harry into the bank to the surprise of everyone else watching the exchange. The rumors from the event would spread swiftly each theory becoming more outlandish than its predecessor. The most popular one (printed later in the  _Quibbler_ ) spawned from Harry's short stature and boyish face claiming he was a faerie prince coming to deposit his fae riches in the most secure bank in the world.

Neither Harry nor the Goblins would enlighten the Wizarding community to the truth of the matter. Simply put during the war with the Mundanes, Harry had fought beside the Goblins. He had discovered them to be a strictly militant society ruled by an elected King who was voted for every hundred years unless the king died or was killed. (The only way a king was killed while on the throne was by an unhappy goblin mob so a ruler had plenty of incentive to listen to their people's wishes)

The Wizarding World kept no standing army to fight with. Aurors and Hit-Wizards were the Mundane equivalent of policemen and S.W.A.T. They had little effect on the highly trained Mundane military forces. The Wizards had been forced to treat with the Goblins for their army. After centuries of wizarding repression the Goblins bargained for every benefit possible before agreeing to help, not that it mattered much in the end.

Once he had paid reparations for the damage caused when he was horcrux hunting, Harry joined the Goblin forces fighting against the Mundanes. They attacked labs and guarded camps of magical folk. He fought and even once died with the Goblins. He proved himself a true Goblin Warrior and earned the right to use the goblin greeting for brother-in-arms which he automatically presented to the guards at the doors of Gringotts.

The salute was Brotherhood Bound. Only those who had earned the right would be able to make it (for young goblins earning the right was the equivalent of coming of age). There would be no imposters. Even in the body of a child Harry's use of the greeting ensured he would be treated with the respect of a Goblin Warrior. He walked up to the head teller and waited patiently for the goblin to look up at him.

According to the plaque, the goblin's name was Gruklirg. After a handful of minutes which Harry spent desperately trying to forget that somewhere beneath the floor was another piece of Tom's soul the fierce being looked up from his paper work to glare down at Harry.

"Yes," he sneered clearly unimpressed with the small wizardling in front of him.

Harry once more bared his teeth and gave the Goblin salute earning the attention of everyone in the hall especially that of the Goblins. Only after Griklirg returned the greeting did Harry speak.

"I have important business with the bank," he said before looking around him at all the wizards and witches not so subtly trying to eavesdrop. "Private business."

The goblin no longer sneering at him turned to glower at the nosy magicals. They all immediately hurried to look busy, "Very well. Griphook will lead you to a private room."

Griklirg made some kind of gesture and the goblin who once upon a time had been rescued from Malfoy Manner with Harry and his friends appeared. After being immersed in Goblin culture the Boy-Who-Lived understood the other's actions when he, Ron, and Hermione had broken into the bank. To the Goblin Nation thieves were as bad as traitors, and traitors deserved what they got. From the goblin perspective, Griphook acted honorably in attempting to recover Goblin property and deal with thieves.

Harry gave the new arrival the same salute before nodding to the head teller, "With honor."

The goblin blinked before returning his nod, "With honor."

Griphook lead him away from the main lobby area and through a maze like series of hallways. The further from the lobby they travelled the more decorated the halls became. At the start of their journey the décor was simple marble, bare and foreboding. Those halls were the public areas of the bank. Further into the private sector the cold marble was covered in rich tapestries detailing the history of the Goblin Nation. Depictions of huge battles and fearsome heroes or infamous kings dogged Harry and Griphook's journey.

Finally they reached their apparent destination. The goblin lead him into a moderately sized but heavily ornate room. Weapons lined the all the walls except behind a stately looking desk where instead there was the seal of Gringotts embedded into the marble with gold and precious gems.

"I leave you here, Brother Wizard," Griphook announced giving him a look filled with curiosity which to anyone unaccustomed to Goblin expressions came across as a death glare.

"With honor, Brother Griphook," Harry replied giving another salute.

"With honor." His salute was returned before the goblin swiftly departed the room.

There was a chair in front of the desk, but Harry knew better than to take it before his host arrived. Instead he walked over to study the weaponry on display. Each had a little plaque probably giving details, but they were in Gobbledygook which Harry had never been able to pick up. A gruff voice from the door interrupted his admiration of the halberd in front of him.

"It's named Icebreaker. King Garnuk wielded it during our war with the frost giants some centuries ago."

Harry turned to see a particularly ugly looking goblin settling behind the desk. His defining feature was the thick raised scar which ran through a blind eye and ended with a chunk of missing nose. He recognized those features. This was the head of the bank, Bvoldclaw.

What the Wizarding World did not know was that each Gringotts bank doubled as a Goblin base. Therefore, the head of the bank would equivalate to a Mundane Commander or General depending on the importance of the base, and the London branch was of vital importance. Harry, well aware of the status of the goblin before him, snapped off a salute and bowed his head in recognition of Bvoldclaw's rank.

The goblin returned the salute and indicated he take a seat.

While he moved to comply, Harry couldn't help but comment, "Frost giants? I thought those were a myth."

Bvoldclaw only gave him a toothy grin which would have caused any mortal to wet their pants. Harry being of questionable mortality merely blinked.

"They're myth now," the goblin said with a note of vicious pride before he pinned the wizardling in front of him with a piercing gaze. "But unto business…"

The head of the Gringotts bank in London trailed off and looked at Harry expectantly. Without hesitation he removed his cap revealing his infamous scar and even messier looking hair. The goblin had probably been aware of his identity from the moment he entered the bank and had merely given him the curtesy of revealing himself due to his status as a brother-in-arms.

"Head Bvoldclaw," Harry said formally, "I have come to request the aid of my brothers of Gringotts in a matter of grave importance."

"Brother Potter," the goblin said after a moment of silent staring, "we of the bank would be interested to know how you came to be a brother-in-arms of the Goblin Nation first before any decisions can be made. Especially," he said, "as we do not seem to have record of it."

Right. Harry had expected this. He knew the exact answer he was going to give, too.

"You have no record of it, Head Bvoldclaw, because the actions which lead to my earning the right have not happened yet," he said honestly.

The other leaned back in surprise before giving a gruff, "Explain."

So Harry did. He automatically fell into the debriefing habits he'd picked up when he was part of the Goblin Army. In clipped sentences he told Bvoldclaw about the shattering of the Statute of Secrecy, the violence and eventual war. He explained how he earned the title Brother-in-arms to the Goblin Nation when he had saved the King in a battle against the Mundanes (leaving out that he had lost his life temporarily in the process).

He couldn't keep the grief out of his voice when he spoke about the end of the world and his eventual death, but he did leave out mention of the six Entities he'd spoken with implying that he had died and somehow mysteriously awoken in his infantile body. Once he finished his recounting of evens the office filled with silence while Harry composed himself.

Bvoldclaw sat stoicly through Harry's tale asking neither question nor making any comments. He merely studied the child in front of him who he learned was not really a child at all. Once the wizard finished the scarred goblin contemplated his next course of action.

"King Norok will need to be informed before I can offer any aid," seeing Harry's crestfallen look and in an uncharacteristic bout of empathy he continued, "He will not deny you once made aware of the situation, but still. Proper channels must be observed."

Both Harry and Bvoldclaw shared a mournful look. That meant paperwork. The bane of all warriors, and anyone really but the hardiest of bureaucrats. (Harry truly doubted the sanity of anyone who enjoyed paperwork.)

"I understand," the Boy-Who-Lived sighed before an idea hit him causing him to immediately perking up. "In the mean time I would like request the services of the bank to help settle the Potter account."

The head goblin gave a chilling smile, quickly catching on, "We of Gringotts bank are happy to aid one of our esteemed clients. What services do you require?"

Harry gave a blood-thirsty smile, "First, I need you to get me Lucius Malfoy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S.- the cookies were a lie, but I'm still glad ya'll liked my work XD
> 
> Fierce. Out.


	6. All it Takes is Some IMAGINATION

Chapter Five

_The head goblin gave a chilling smile, quickly catching on, "We of Gringotts bank are happy to aid one of our esteemed clients. What services do you require?"_

_Harry gave a blood-thirsty smile, "First, I need you to get me Lucius Malfoy."_

* * *

Of course, one could not merely snap their fingers and expect to summon a Malfoy (unless that someone was an insane, megalomaniac Dark Lord). but they could request a meeting at the bank. Due to the Goblin's stout neutrality Gringotts served as the meeting place for many wizarding folk—for a fee of course.

Harry, after haggling down the cost, handed Bvoldclaw an expensive looking envelope he had prepared for the Goblins to forward to dear Lucy. If the letter contained within just so happened to be laced with a compulsion spell to ensure the recipients attendance… well, the Goblins wouldn't say anything and Harry certainly wasn't going to mention it.

The head of the bank placed the envelope in his out box where it promptly disappeared. He then turned to look expectantly at Harry, "Your next order of business, Brother Potter?"

"Right," the immortal wizard said, "I need to know what it will take to gain full access to the Potter account as well as see if I have any access to the Black account as Heir."

Bvoldclaw nodded and passed a gnarled hand over the surface of his desk. Immediately there appeared a pile of folders in two separate stacks. Harry couldn't help but grin. Even after all these years he had never lost his wonder for the things magic could do.

The stack on the left held mahogany colored files with a crest stamped in gold on the top. It was these that the goblin reached for first. He studied the contents of the topmost documents, "It would seem, Brother Potter, that you already have full access to the Potter Accounts and can claim the title Lord Potter whenever you desire."

Harry leaned back in surprise, "How is that possible?"

"Your magic registers and an adult," Bvoldclaw stated, "granting you Of-Age status and all that comes with it: control of the family accounts, Lordship, and a lack of the trace you wizards put on your young."

"Huh," the Boy-Who-Lived said, thoughts running a mile a minute, "well that explains some things and makes others a whole lot easier than I thought they'd be. What about the Blacks?"

The goblin reached for the right stack of black colored files with an ivory crest and opened the top folder. He read a few lines before dropping the file in surprise. Harry felt his curiosity grow. What could shock goblin he wondered.

"It would appear," said the head of Gringotts after swiftly getting over his surprise, "that you can also claim Lordship over the Black family should you so desire to."

"What," Harry gaped, "isn't Sirius Black next in line for the lordship?"

The wizard-in-a-child's-body felt concern coil in his stomach. Had something happened to Sirius? Had he somehow managed to change the future enough that his godfather was already dead? Harry immediately started trying to determine what he could have done to cause his godfather's demise when Bvoldclaw finally spoke up from the files he'd been hastily reading.

"It would appear that once again the age of your magic has granted you the Lordship," the goblin said catching Harry's attention. "It says here that while Sirius Black was never officially stricken from the family he was removed as Heir in favor of his brother, a Regulus Black," the Gringotts head goblin glanced at the papers in front of him before once more addressing Harry.

"When Regulus Black died in 1979 no new Heir was officially named. Sirius Black was only able to claim the title as the last surviving male of the main line. He later blood-adopted you enabling him to name you his Heir; however, he never claimed the Lordship or Heirship. As of October 31, 1981, you are the oldest male of the main Black line according to your magic."

Harry's mind whirled at all he had just learned. He began discarding and restructuring plans and ideas. Endless possibilities stretched before him as he weighed the pros and cons of each choice. Finally he returned his focus to Bvoldclaw who had been waiting calmly for the other to finish his thought process.

"For now," Harry said sitting up straighter, "I will leave the Black account alone. I had already planned for it to be a few years before I had access to those, and I do not want to gain the attention of the Ministry like accepting the Lordship of that family would certainly do. If my plans are successful, Sirius will be freed from Azkaban soon enough and then  _together_  the both of us can revisit the Black account."

The goblin before him raised a brow clearly curious about said plans but too professional to ask. The Wizarding World's Savior merely continued to give instructions, "I will also not take up the Potter Lordship for the same reasons, but there are still several things that need to be done. First, I wish to recall everyone's access but my own."

Harry watched as Bvoldclaw began to take notes with an eagle feather quill before moving on to his second point, "Next, I want a complete audit." Before the goblin could ask the boy simply said, "I have some suspicions about a certain Supreme Mugwump of too many names."

The head of Gringotts nodded and made a note to himself to discretely check on the Dumbledore accounts for any questionable items.

Pulling a sheaf of papers from the pockets of his large coat, Harry handed them to the goblin.

"These are the companies I want to invest in," he said, on the list were the Mundane companies even he had heard about like Apple and Microsoft, "some are Mund—I mean Muggle and a few are Magical. I want to have controlling interest in as many as possible and a large amount of influence for the rest."

This was the first step in his plans to handle the Mundanes. While the top of the list contained the huge, money earning corporations it was the second half which he considered more important. Listed were the research companies which would one day create the technology to rival Magic. Some didn't exist yet. Still it was vital he gain control of those, especially the ones with connections to the military.

Thankfully he had thousands of years of Potter fortune to use towards his goal. There were also the estates that were willed to him from various Light wizarding families that had died out after his defeat of Voldemort. That had been a huge shock in his last life. He had several homes in various places around the world to go with the vast amounts of galleons which had been willed to him. The Potter name would also have a heafty weight in the Wizengamot once he took up his lordship.

Harry continued once Bvoldclaw put down the list, "Finally I want to start a business."

The goblin looked interested even as he prepared to take down what was said. From the depths of his oversized coat the wizardling pulled out one last item. It was a business plan he'd created with the aid of some of the old books he'd found in the closet of his room.

"The mission of my venture will be to bring the Wizarding World out of the rut it's been in since probably the 1700s. I plan to reach out to innovative Wizards and Witches and hire or fund their ideas. Once I have more capital my business will not only sell these new inventions, but also provide further income for research into the various fields of magic."

"An ambitious plan, Brother Potter," Bvoldclaw paused studying the wizard in front of him, "but one I think you will prove successful in."

"It will have to succeed," Harry exclaimed, features set with determination, "it is vital to our survival that we advance, and quickly. If we stay where we are, the Mundanes will soon have the capabilities to destroy us."

Clearing his throat, the Boy-Who-Lived returned to the matter at hand. There was no point in getting lost in the past again, this time he had a plan, and he would succeed.

"I need someone trustworthy to be the face of my company," he told the goblin in front of him, "no one would take me seriously in the body of a child. Also, while I might not yet have the people or the place, I do want to get my name out there. I have developed communication mirrors which will make floo-calling obsolete. By putting those out on the market right away I plan to attract customers and innovators alike while also earning some capital."

The mirrors had been the result of boredom at Durzkaban. He'd first been attempting to remake the Marauder design before beginning to improve it. Much like the floo, the mirrors relied on a network connecting them all together. Each mirror would have a different signature or address, and to 'call' someone you merely had to state their address usually held in a name.

To avoid confusion with people who had the same name the mirrors relied on a bit of scrying magic Harry had stumbled across in his old life. Essentially the mirrors would intuit who the user wanted to contact to ensure they reached the right person. The mirrors were the off/on work of a few years, and he knew they were the perfect things to get his business off the ground.

Bvoldclaw had a calculating gleam in his eye, "Gringotts would be interested in investing in this venture."

Harry gave a bloodthirsty grin which would have made any goblin proud, "Well, then. Let's talk business."

The goblin returned his smile, pointed teeth gleaming in the light and prepared a new piece of parchment, "What would be the name of your business, Brother Potter?"

"It will be called…"

He thought a moment before the perfect name came to him. It was simple, but encapsulated all of what he wanted this business to do.

"Imagine."


	7. Hello, Lucy

Chapter Six

 

_He thought a moment before the perfect name came to him. It was simple, but encapsulated all of what he wanted this business to do._

" _Imagine."_

* * *

 After a couple of hours talking business, Bvoldclaw and Harry finally settled on a contract for the production and distribution of the communication mirrors which he decided to call Scrys. They would still take a while to hit wizarding stores but should be out just in time for the wizardling to go to Hogwarts in two years. Saying farewell to the head goblin of Gringotts he made sure to cover his features before leaving the bank and Diagon Alley.

Just off Charing Cross Harry checked to make sure he was alone and that there were no cameras before he turned on his heel and apparated outside the library to make his way back to Number Four. He saw Mrs. Figg walking the street and gave her an acknowledging nod before entering the house.

The Dursley's were in the living room watching TV when he walked in to stand before them. A simple gesture of his hand silenced the room just in time for Vernon's purpled expression to explode in rage. He watched in amusement as the walrus-like man yelled and ranted silently before falling still and glaring at his nephew with hatred.

Dudley was in the futile process of trying to hide his overweight body behind his thin mother. Petunia was white-faced, staring straight ahead not looking at her nephew or anything in particular. Harry found their reactions funny. Beyond laying down the ground rules he'd mostly stayed out of their way.

"In a couple of weeks I will be skipping classes for wizard business," he said. Dudley whimpered at the word wizard while Vernon's fists clenched. Petunia acted like she heard nothing.

"If the school calls," Harry continued, "please tell them I am sick."

He stood there in the silence until his aunt gave a stiff nod. Harry turned and left giving an absent wave to lift the silencing charm. The sudden burst of laughter from the TV caused all the inhabitants of the room to jump, but by then Harry was up the stairs.

He removed his coat and hat and set them into his transfigured dresser, and laid down on his bed with a sigh of relief. Phase One complete he thought with a villainous voice, just because. Truly it was a relief to take the first step in dealing with the Mundanes and bringing the Wizarding World out of its stagnation. His meeting with the elder Malfoy would be in three weeks and at that time he would also be getting an update from Bvoldclaw.

Harry fell asleep to the hum of the muggle repelling ward on his door and the obnoxious TV sounds from downstairs.

* * *

  _G_ _inny had been away training with the Holyhead Harpies when the attack on Hogwarts happened. He hadn't wanted her to go, but she had insisted ignoring his concerns over the growing tensions with the Muggles. She like most of the Weasleys had only a patronizing curiosity about Muggles with no real knowledge of the danger they possessed._

_When the news hit international papers Ginny had rushed home only to find a trashed house and a wrecked husband. They had fought. He's not even sure over what exactly. He might have yelled at her for leaving, going off to play Quidditch like the world wasn't falling apart. She might have called him a failure, saying that as an Auror and a liaison with the muggles he should have known should have_ done _something._

_His wife broke down into tears, but he'd already done his crying so he left. They never really saw each other again after that. He didn't go to Ron or Hermione; they were mourning over the loss of their two children—everyone was mourning the loss of the children. Grimmauld Place was in the middle of Muggle London so he wasn't sure it was safe anymore._

_He wound up at the ruins of the Potter home in Godric's Hollow. The village was too small and had been home to numerous wizarding families over the centuries that it was used to the odd and indifferent to magic. It was just one of those quirks which the inhabitants quickly got over and ignored._

_It was even more dilapidated than when he had visited with Hermione during the Horcrux hunt. It was hard to tell that the ruins had once been a house. The village was also different when not covered in layers of glistening snow. It was not as picturesque and yet at the same time there was still a magical quality to the air which couldn't be credited to Christmas._

_For the first time since that Halloween night so long ago Harry entered what remained of the Potter Cottage. He walked with care over collapsed walls and moldy furniture. The dark magic still lingering on the property caused a shiver to go down the Auror's back._

_Almost instinctively he walked towards the highest concentration of magic. His nursery. Or at least, where it had collapsed from upstairs. All he could really find was his crib. The paint was pealing and on the rotting wood he noticed some carved runes._

_He hadn't taken the class at Hog—at school, but a case a couple of years ago had caused him to learn some of it. Harry could make out inscriptions for protection and sacrifice. He almost wanted to laugh. His mother's love indeed._

_He turned to leave and stepped on something that caused his magical senses to go haywire and gooseflesh to pebble all over his skin. Looking down to see what he was standing on Harry felt his heart freeze._

_It was the resurrection stone, but that was impossible. It should be lying somewhere forgotten in the Forbidden Forest not in the ruined home of his parents. Without really thinking about it his fingers curled around the black, cracked stone. Temptation fluttered at the edge of his mind. Three turns. He'd done it before. He could see his children. James Sirius, Lily Luna, and Albus Severus. The stone turned once, twice, then—_

_No._

_Harry dropped the stone and stared at his hand in horror. With no real destination in mind he spun on his heel and disapparated away. Leaving the resurrection stone and any temptation behind._

_He apparated into a lynch mob._

_Everything seemed to freeze and in those moments Harry took in his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the fire. Some of the muggles in the crowd were holding torches. Next he saw the stake. An honest to god stake with wood piled around it. Lastly, he saw the child. Wide, terrified eyes surrounded by black bruise. The boy was so clearly afraid and he looked so small restrained as he was between the two men dragging him forwards towards the stake and into the heart of the mob._

_Harry called his wand into hand not even noticing in his rage that it wasn't his trusted Holly wand he held but the Elder Wand. He'd thought it destroyed, turned to ash or splintered to pieces after the bombing of the school, but there it was in his hand whole and thrumming with power eager to do its master's bidding._

_His stunners hit the two men dragging the boy blasting them away just as the Muggle mob was beginning to notice him. There were screams in the air, some of fear, but most shouted hatred and anger. He raced towards the boy who didn't even seem to realize his captors were gone frozen as he was in fear. Harry dodged between the muggles using his Auror training and a couple of spells. He gathered up the boy a turned—_

_Two cracks wrenched the air._

_Harry had a moment to notice the shocked face of Draco Malfoy lined with grief before the pain hit him. He collapsed in a jumbled heap too pained to even try to prevent harming the child cradled in his arms._

_Luckily, or maybe not, he landed on his back causing agony comparative to the cruciatus curse to spasm through his body. He found himself staring at a high vaulted ceiling, darkness encroaching more and more on his vision. Then there was the panicked face of Malfoy and he realized he'd been shot. He was dying._

_He didn't have a chance to decide how he felt about that before the darkness consumed him._

* * *

 His alarm woke him up early enough to get ready for school though attending Mundane classes was not in the agenda for today. He was going to cut school to meet with the Elder Malfoy and see to the progression of his other projects. Hopefully, Bvoldclaw would have a few candidates to be the face of his business.

He'd received no letters from the bank as he'd instructed. Harry knew for certain his mail was being confiscated, most likely from the old busybody himself. As famous as he was, and with the magical ability of owls he should have been receiving fan/hate mail from the moment he was left at the Dursleys and yet all these years nothing.

The theft of the mail didn't bother him too much. There was truth to the fact that harmful mail could be sent, or portkeys to kidnap him. Harry still had many enemies free among the Dark Sect who would want to injure him; however, he should have been made aware of his mail situation when he entered Hogwarts. He should have been made aware of a lot of things when he entered Hogwarts. Dumbledore had neglected much in his previous life.

Pushing away thoughts of his old headmaster, Harry rushed down the stairs to find Petunia cooking breakfast. Vernon and Dudley were still asleep so it was just him and his aunt.

"Expect the school to call today," he told her once he had her attention. "I'll be away at Diagon for several hours."

She gave no verbal response, but he was used to his aunt pretending he didn't exist. Harry turned and left the kitchen grabbing his backpack which he'd left by the front door. All he had inside was the hat and oversized coat as well as various papers he'd need at the bank and for his meeting with Lucy. In moments he was out on the sidewalk headed toward school.

Once he was a few blocks from Wisteria Walk Harry ducked between houses and apparated away. In an alley not far from the Leaky he donned the coat and hat. It was early in the morning, but not too early that the pub was empty. People and families were sleepily bustling about eating breakfast and quietly gossiping.

He walked up to Tom and ordered some breakfast not really noticing the hooded figure who jolted upright when he passed by. Harry ate his food quickly before making his way to the bank. The alley was just starting to come alive with people crowding between stores to shop and talk.

The short wizard once more saluted to the guards and was bowed into the bank. No one paid any mind to the cloaked figure which took up station not far from the entrance. This time Harry ignored the tellers and walked up to one of the guards lining the room.

He gave the salute, making sure his voice was lowered when he addressed the goblin, "I have a reservation for one of the meeting rooms at 8."

The guardsman nodded before leading him down one of the side hallways. They didn't travel as far as last time before coming to a stop in front of a heavy oak door. It was one of the more expensive conference rooms layered with secrecy spells and anti-eavesdropping wards. The guard left him and moved to return to his post.

Harry stepped in to the empty room. A long, hardwood table was the center piece of the sizeable chamber. There were only two chairs, the one across from the door and at the head of the table was more ornate with carvings of magical beasts up the backrest and making up the arms. He was about fifteen minutes early and set out making preparations for Lucy's arrival.

A wave of his hand darkened the part of the room he was sitting in leaving it in barely penetrable shadow. He transfigured his coat and hat into a heavy black cloak and pulled the hood up to cover his features completely in darkness. One last gesture towards his face and he was ready.

Harry was thankful for the fact that apparently not spending his developmental years in a dark cupboard meant that he didn't need glasses now. Those years of straining in the dark and eating sparse meals had done a lot of damage to his body and eyesight. In this life he was better off, and it showed in just how healthy he looked when he thought to compare himself to what he'd looked like in his past life.

It was a few moments before a haughty blonde swept into the room. The man's upturned sneer quickly froze as a paling Lucius Malfoy took in the sight before him. Lounging like a king was a darkly cloaked figure. They were about the same size as his son Draco, but the Magic that had swamped the room as soon as he entered was too vast to belong to a mere child.

The blonde aristocrat watched as a small, pale hand reached up and pulled back the hood of the cloak. Before him was the face of Harry Potter, messy hair and infamous lightning bolt scar.

With the glowing red eyes of his Lord.

The being before him spoke with a taunting smirk curling at blood red lips, voice more hiss than word, "Luciusss sso good of you to join me. Ssit down. We have much to dissscusss."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has Subscribed/Bookmarked and commented. You are all awesome!!!  
> Just a reminder: I have no beta, so all mistakes are mine. Also all recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling.
> 
> I am having so much fun writing this story XD  
> Fierce. Out.


	8. The Prank to Make Prongs Proud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you guys liked having Harry pretend to be Voldy. I thought it was hilarious too.  
> Anyway thanks to everyone who has commented and bookmarked/subscribed to this story so far!

Chapter Seven

_Before him was the face of Harry Potter, messy hair and infamous lightning bolt scar._

_With the glowing red eyes of his Lord._

_The being before him spoke with a taunting smirk curling at blood red lips, voice more hiss than word, "Luciusss sso good of you to join me. Ssit down. We have much to dissscusss."_

* * *

Harry was barely able to keep from laughing out loud. Malfoy had gone as pale as a ghost and tried to bow and sit at the same time; as a result, he practically collapsed into the only other seat in the room. This had to be the best prank ever. The Boy-Who-Lived hoped his father was enjoying the show from wherever he was beyond that train station.

The young wizard stared at the aristocrat before him allowing the silence to stretch. He watched as the blonde man tried not to fidget. Harry merely pushed out more magic making the air weighty and difficult for the elder Malfoy to breathe. His magic brushed up against the hidden mark on Lucy's left forearm and purred.

He could feel his soulmate's Magic in the mark reacting to him even as the Malfoy Lord gasped and clutched his arm. Harry reluctantly withdrew and pulled back some of his magic.

"It isss good to sssee you again, Luciusss," he said maintaining the snake accent. "Though, from what I hear. You may not be asss glad to sssee me."

"Never, my Lord," Malfoy was quick to assure, "To be in your presence again, after all these years, it is truly an honor. I have always been faithful to you and the cause. My claims were merely subterfuge so that I might move around freely to aid you."

The blonde opened his mouth to do more sucking up, and Harry seriously considered letting him do so but he had other things to do today so he decided to get on with it.

He raised his hand and Lucy's mouth shut with an audible click. "Asss nice asss it isss to know you are ssstill loyal, I did not call you here jussst to catch up, Luciusss."

"Of course, my Lord," the other bowed his head, "I shall do whatever you require."

The Savior of the Wizarding World only hummed, "I am sssure you have noticed, my new…looksss?"

Lucius hesitated, giving the quickest of glances to the lightning bolt scar on the boy's forehead, "Yes, my Lord. I am…most curious as to your new appearance."

Harry only gave a cold, high laugh (the same he'd heard Voldemort make only much eerier coming from a child. He filled the room with his Magic and Malfoy shuddered.

"Asss if a mere babe could fell the greatessst Dark Lord to ever roam the earth," he said giving the other man a serpentine smile. "I was merely inconvenienced for a time. Dumbledore, the old fool, sssaw fit to abandon what he thought wasss a child Harry Potter to his muggle relativesss."

The Malfoy Lord gave a sneer, disgust for anything muggle clear on the aristocrats face, "To leave a wizarding child with muggle filth, disgraceful."

"Mmm, yesss," Harry agreed. "That isss where you come in Luciusss."

The other man straightened like a good pet ready to receive it's master's orders. "There will come a time when my resssidence at the mugglesss will come under question. You Luciusss will petition to adopt me."

Dear Lucy lost all his pure-blood composure, moth hanging open and dumbfounded. Harry wished he had a pensive so that he could watch this moment again and again. The other man's face was priceless.

At the amusement in his master's eyes, Lucius managed to regain his composure, mask slipping expertly into place. Wariness filled the blonde's face as he spoke, "Dumbledore would never allow his little Savior into the hands of a Dark family."

Harry smirked which seemed to unnerve the other man, "I only need you to make a convincing enough claim that the old goat worriesss you might sssucceed in gaining cussstody. Your connection to the Black'sss through your wife givesss you the closssessst relation to Potter, and thus the ssstrongessst case. Hisss fear will make him take drassstic actionsss. Actionsss which align to my plansss."

The wizardling watched as a calculating gleam entered Lord Malfoys eyes even as he contemplated the exhaustion of keeping up the snake accent. It was becoming quite annoying, but he couldn't drop it now—he was committed.

Lucy seemed to understand what Harry was getting at. It was probably this astuteness that had earned the man a spot as Voldemort's right hand (at least until he'd messed up too badly to ever regain favor).

"You want him to free Sirius Black," the blonde said in surprise.

"Very good, Luciusss," Harrymort hissed.

The blonde preened, pleased at the praise. Malfoy sat expectantly probably waiting for more details that Harry wasn't going to give. The Death Eater quickly realized this and shifted in his chair looking unsure.

"I will contact you when the time isss right to asssert your claim," the Boy-Who-Lived said.

The other man bowed as much as he could while sitting, "I will eagerly await your word, my Lord."

"You had better, Luciusss," Harry threatened. "Timing will be of the upmost importance if my plan is to sssucceed. I will not tolerate failure."

"It will be done as you command, my Lord," Malfoy said paling in fear. Good, that meant Harry's act was still strong.

"I have one more item to dissscusss before you may return to your manor, Luciusss," the young Savior said containing his eagerness. He was about to get to the real reason he'd contacted Lucy. The blonde came to attention, not wanting to miss a word from his Lord.

"A number of yearsss ago I left a certain artifact to the protection of your family," he said and still seeing the confusion of the aristocrat's face Harry continued, "A black diary. I require it back."

Lucius continued to look confused for a moment before understanding dawned on his face. The Death Eater sat up and called out, "Dobby!"

The house elf that appeared was so achingly familiar that Harry was glad Lucius was looking at the creature and not him. For a second, the Boy-Who-Lived's mask had surely cracked, but he quickly fixed it before the blonde could notice.

"Master called for Dobby," the little elf said not looking up from its toes. Harry felt a pang at how small his friend was, how different from the bright elf he'd known, but he pushed the feeling away. He couldn't do anything for Dobby now.

"Bring me the Riddle diary from the Crimson Artifact Vault," the Malfoy Lord said dismissively.

With a silent  _pop_  the house elf was gone and then back again holding a familiar diary in his hands. Harry's magic wanted to reach out. It was hard to resist snatching up the little black book and giving the game away when he was so close to so much of his soulmate's soul.

Thankfully Lucius was quick to direct the elf into giving Harry the diary. His fingers curled possessively around it even as Voldemort's magic washed through him. Before the wizardling could get too caught up in the magic of the horcrux he looked up at the blonde who was gazing at his hold on the diary with calculating eyes.

"You may go now, Luciusss," Harry said sharply jerking the man out of focus. "I will contact you when it isss time."

The blond man got up and bowed, "As you command, my Lord. The Malfoys are proud to serve."

The aristocrat was almost out the door when the Boy-Who-Lived's voice resonated in the room filled with malice and the promise of pain.

"You will tell no one of thisss, Luciusss," he said as the other man stiffened in fear. "Not even your lovely wife or darling Draco."

At the mention of his son's name the Malfoy Lord went ghost white before nodding and fleeing the room. The sharp, "Come Dobby," his last remark. The house elf moved to obey and Harry was once more alone.

A wave of his hand returned the room and his features to normal, and the young Savior sat back with relief.  _Phase Two complete_  he thought feeling giddy. Things were going well. Harry caressed the diary his Magic rushing forward to eagerly brush against the soul piece contained within.

He itched to write in it and speak with his soulmate, even if it was just the 16 year old version of Tom Riddle, but he would wait for a more private location. Harry enlarged one of his coat pockets before placing the diary inside it. He warded the pocket for anti-theft and concealment not wanting to chance losing the diary after he'd just gotten it. Although with as attuned to the horcrux's presence as he was, Harry didn't think the black book could be parted from his person without him noticing.

Still he wouldn't risk it.

The Boy-Who-Lived finally made his way out of the conference room and headed towards Head Bvoldclaw's office. He didn't need an escort as a recognized Brother of the Goblin nation. His earlier guard had only been show for the public.

Harry found his way to the office and knocked, waiting for an acknowledgement before entering. The scarred goblin was not alone however, with him was an older man in high quality, but not too expensive robes.

They both looked to the door at his entrance. The Boy-Who-Lived was impressed that the strangers eyes did not stray towards his forehead where his scar was on prominent display.

Bvoldclaw was the first to speak, "Brother Potter, this is Cunobelin Burke. We believe him to be trustworthy enough to hold stewardship over your business. He has already signed a Contract of Secrecy and he has agreed to being obliviated of this meeting if he does not meet your standards."

Harry merely hummed as he studied the other man. Burke met his gaze without reservation and he still hadn't looked towards the lightning bolt scar even though the Head of Gringotts had confirmed his identity. He was impressed already.

"Burke," asked the young Savior, tilting his head in question. "As in Borgin and Burkes?"

The older man scowled, "Yes, old Caractacus Burke is my Great-Uncle. He's a self-righteous bastard. Won't hardly look in my direction because I'm a half-blood." The man gave a vicious smile, "Jokes on him, once he kicks the bucket everything goes to me as the last male of the line. Old bastard's as sterile as a mule and can't do anything about it."

Harry decided he liked this Burke. He didn't seem to put up with much nonsense, nor was he a pure-blood fanatic.

"Well, Mr. Cunobelin Burke, let's get this interview underway," he said taking the remaining empty seat.

"Just Nobel, please," the other man smirked. "It pisses off those prissy pure-bloods."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there it is. Those Ss to symbolize snake-ish talk were super annoying, but I was committed.  
> Have a blessed be Mabon, a fantastic autumnal equinox, or just a great normal day!
> 
> Fierce. Out.


	9. Things Do Not Go According to Plan

Chapter 8

 

" _Well, Mr. Cunobelin Burke, let's get this interview underway," he said taking the remaining empty seat._

" _Just Nobel, please," the other man smirked. "It pisses off those prissy pure-bloods."_

* * *

"Then call me Harry," the young Potter responded trying not to smile, as far as first impressions went this man was doing well.

The other man nodded in acquiescence not as all perturbed to be on equal terms with a seeming child. Bvoldclaw must have explained some things before this meeting.

The young savior jumped right into business while the goblin settled in to take notes and provide any advice necessary. The wizardling stared hard into the older looking man. It was the stare he'd used in his past life when commanding what little troops the Wizarding World had gathered. Many a man had cracked when meeting the hard, emerald eyes of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry's respect for Mr. Burke raised just a notch when the other man's only sign of nerves was his shifting in his seat a little.

"Well, Nobel," the wizardling began, "what makes you think you're worthy of being the face of my business?"

"Nothing," was the man's surprising response. Harry raised an eyebrow in intrigue but didn't have to prompt as Burke quickly continued. "I'm a half-blood from a dark-aligned family. Neither Dark or Light want much to do with me." The other man paused to gather his thoughts.

"Until old Caractacus kicks the bucket all I've got to my name is a Muggle degree in History—I know," he responded at the wizardling's surprised look. "Back when I was a naive little shit I thought I wanted to teach at Hogwarts. Make history more interesting then Binns ever would."

Nobel's face became lined with bitterness though he didn't lose any of the rigid posture he'd maintained since Harry had scrutinized him.

"Those high and lofty Lords on the School Board of Governors would never agree to a half-blood teaching if they could help it, and Dumbledore," he sneered surprising the young savior with its vitriol, "would never back someone from a Dark family."

"So no, there's nothing that makes me worthy of running your business. I've no experience besides what I hear when that bastard Caractacus rants about his precious business at the annual Burke Family dinners so drunk he can  _almost_  forget about my dirty blood." Nobel scoffed showing he thought just as well of his relative. Harry could relate as the Dursleys and he maintained a mutual understanding of dislike.

The other man met the Boy-Who-Lived's eyes, expression blazing with passion. "Master Goblin Bvoldclaw explained to me what you wanted this business to do. It will upset the status quo.  _ **Imagine**_  is going to be a big, fat, middle finger to both sides. It's going to bring change. The Dark and Light factions are going to hate it."

Nobel leaned back looking like the cat that got the canary. "And I want in. Simple as that."

After that the interview went exceedingly well. Harry liked Nobel's no-nonsense attitude and slightly antagonistic inclination towards snobby pure-bloods and good ole Dumbles. He knew the man would be able to handle the business and ensure no one tried to take advantage of things.

After hours of negotiations, Harry pulled out the contract he'd written while trapped at Privet Drive. Bvoldclaw reviewed it and made a couple of changes according to what both wizards had discussed. Noble would get a generous monthly salary. If the business did well there would be a yearly bonus provided in December.

In exchange, the other man was basically the head of the business with Harry as more of a shadow controller and investor. The wizardling had final say in risky ventures, but otherwise Noble was free to do as he pleased with  _ **Imagine**_  as long as he followed its mission parameters. Both wizards signed with Harry giving only a slight scowl at the use of a contract blood quill.

Thankfully the wound it caused healed up quickly and left no scar. If things went according to plan  _ **Imagine**_  would open up about three years after Scrys hit the market. Nobel would spend the time until then finding inventors and building up stock for the grand opening.

The other man left with a wave following after his goblin escort and mumbling about who to contact. Harry leaned back in his chair feeling satisfied and confident that the man could handle things. Then he turned to the head of Gringotts to see the goblin sorting files on his desk.

"Have you made any progress on my other ventures, Brother Bvoldclaw," he asked the goblin.

The Being paused in his shuffling and pulled out a grey folder inspecting its contents. After a moments pause to peruse the information the goblin turned his attention back to the Boy-Who-Lived.

"So far we have managed to buy 19% of the shares of the company called Apple, 22% of Microsoft. The goal is to gain a majority 51%," the scarred goblin said. "Gringotts has to move carefully to not arouse Muggle suspicion."

Harry nodded in understanding as he took the file from Bvoldclaw and began to look over its information. The goblin continued summarizing for the wizardling.

"Of the research companies, you own 16% of the list you gave me and hold majority in 28% of the rest. You have shares in 3% of that list, though not a majority—yet. The remaining, as you noted do not exist yet, but there are goblins monitoring for when they do appear as to more easily gain control of them."

"Excellent work for only a couple of weeks, Brother Bvoldclaw," Harry complimented, skimming over the contents of the file and then handing it back to the goblin.

"Any word from King Norok," the young Savior asked forcing himself not to sound nervous or fidget.

The head of Gringotts snapped his fingers causing all the files on the desk to disappear. He clasped his clawed fingers and gave the Savior of the Wizarding World a severe look. Harry recognizing the tactic met the goblin's stare head on.

"I have managed to file the paperwork," here they both grimaced, "and you have an audience with the king in a year."

The Boy-Who-Lived knew better than to complain about the time he had to wait. From what he'd learned during his time with the Goblin Nation he was actually getting the chance to speak with the king earlier than could be expected. Most didn't bother trying to gain an audience because they could end up waiting years.

"Thank you, Brother Bvoldcaw," Harry told the goblin with sincerity. Once he told King Norok his story every Goblin Bank in the world would help him monitor the Mundanes, and if he failed and war still broke out—well, the Goblin's would be vastly more prepared than they had been in his other life.

It was getting close to the time he was expected back at Number Four so Harry redonned his disguise and left the bank. Diagon Alley was not as busy at it would be before the school year started, but it was still quite crowded. The wizardling didn't notice a certain cloaked figure following him until after he'd left the Leaky Cauldron.

His battle-honed senses let the young savior pinpoint his follower almost as soon as the other stepped outside the pub. Harry was used to his senses going on high alert in Mundane areas, especially heavily populated ones like London.

He made sure to look unhurried as he passed crowds of Mundanes and calmly walked into a dark alley. The Boy-Who-Lived walked until he was far enough from the entrance that no one would notice anything happening and then he ducked behind a dumpster to wait.

Harry was just in time as a few moments later there was the sound of steps coming in his direction from the same side of the alley he'd come from; another couple of seconds and a cloaked wizard rushed by him.

The wizard-in-a-child's body breathed out a silent sigh of relief before a hand reached out and dragged him from his hiding spot. Harry reacted instinctually, Magic rushing through him as he acquainted the other man with the alley wall. The wizard's hood fell back as he slid to crumple on the ground, and it was only the shock of recognizing said wizard which prevented the wizardling from causing more harm.

"Moony!?" He exclaimed while the other man lay groaning.

The werewolf and Marauder blinked up in apparent shock. The young Savior figured the other man must have caught his scent and followed him. The wizardling knew Remus would confirm his identity with a few moments of observation.

Harry was well aware he looked just like James, sporting the infamous Potter hair and pure-blood cheekbones; however, his eyes were the same as Lily's, and there was something of her in his nose and chin. The main difference from his father was he didn't have glasses like Prongs would have needed to wear.

Finally, after watching the Boy-Who-Lived, Remus seemed to register what the boy had said.

"You know who I am? You remember? But how…" The gentle werewolf trained off into befuddled silence.

Internally, Harry was freaking out. He had not expected to run into his honorary god-father for a few years. The young Savior had no idea where Moony had been during the years before the man came to teach at Hogwarts, but he'd assumed it was somewhere away from Britain. When he heard the other's questions his panic increased before he forcefully calmed himself and decided to play innocent.

With a cry of, "Uncle Moony," Harry threw himself forward to hug Remus catching the man off guard and sending them both sprawling to the ground.

The Marauder's arms automatically enclosed around Harry. The man's confusion turned to surprise, then horror as he listened to the rapid babbling of the child in his arms.

"I'm so happy to see you, Uncle Moony," the wizardling crowed as he settled further into the older man's arms. The Boy-Who-Lived didn't have to fake his joy. Remus was alive, and Harry was determined to make sure this time around the man would see his son grow up.

"After the bad man I was so scared," the young Savior continued, trying not to lay the theatrics on too thick. How was a normal nine-year old supposed to act anyway?

"I waited and waited, but you and Padfoot never came," he said, looking up to glare into the guilty and horrified eyes of the werewolf he was hugging.

Time for the final touch he decided giving the man his best puppy-dog eyes. "Are you going to take me away, now?"

Remus' arms tightened around him even as the werewolf's expression turned sad.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't—"

Then the man seemed to come to a sudden realization, "Hang on, Harry—Prongslet, why are you here. Alone. In London?"

The Boy-Who-Lived pretended bashfulness, "I just wanted to find you and Padfoot."

Pain crossed over Remus' face at the mention of Sirius, but then what Harry was implying sunk in.

"Harry," the werewolf said, sounding exasperated and worried, "you can't come to London alone. It's dangerous. Your guardians must be worried sick."

Harry couldn't help scowling, "Aunty Tuney and Uncle Walrus don't care nothing about me."

"Its 'don't care anything'," the Marauder corrected automatically. Then, "Wait! Aunt Tuney? As in Petunia? Professor Dumbledore left you with Petunia?"

The werewolf looked conflicted even as Harry nodded his agreement. "The Professor must have had a good reason," the older man mumbled mostly to himself.

Harry opened his mouth to argue as Remus clearly knew what Petunia was like, but his honorary god-father plowed on.

"I need to get you back home before your relatives get too concerned," the werewolf said sternly.

The Boy-Who-Lived pouted and the Marauder tried to give a smile which looked more like a grimace. "Now, Prongslet, it's for the best. Tell me where you live and I'll bring you home. I'll even talk to Petunia to make sure things are… going okay."

The wizardling set his chin in a stubborn manner as he tried to figure out a way out of his predicament. He couldn't  _obliviate_  the other man. For one it was too risky to do precision work without a wand, and for another werewolves were naturally immune to mind-magics: something in the duality of their man-and-beast nature.

While he was thinking Remus had stood and set Harry on the ground. The other man was holding out his hand expectantly, and the Savior of the Wizarding World knew he had no choice. The young boy could only hope that he was able to prevent his relatives from giving too much away.

He petulantly grabbed the older man's hand and said, "Number Four, Privet Drive, Surrey."

Remus seemed to know the address as a moment later they arrived in the backyard with a sharp  _ **CRACK**_.

Still holding the werewolf's hand, Harry led the way into the house and through the kitchen. It was when they reached the living room that the Boy-Who-Lived realized something was not right.

All the pictures and knickknacks were gone. Even the TV was missing. He released Remus' hand and raced upstairs to peer into his relative's bedrooms. All the clothes drawers were open but empty and the closets were bare. All that remained in the house was the heavy furniture. Harry wanted to groan and bang his head on the wall. This day was getting better and better he thought sarcastically.

The Dursleys were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! Your comments were inspiring--literally. So many of ya'll said you liked Nobel. To be honest I wasn't really going to mention him much more, just enough to close the deal. I figured as an OC no one would really care much for him so I wasn't going to spend more time on him, but then you guys...you guys liked my first OC. So I had to provide more. Tadaa-- a little more backstory and about 500 words with Nobel.
> 
> You guys rock with your comments!!! Thanks to everyone who Subscribed/Bookmarked and Kudosed this story. I'm glad people are joining me for the ride. (Cause I totally didn't plan for the Dursleys to disappear, but now they're gone XD)
> 
> Fierce. Out.


	10. Pulling One Over the Old Man

Chapter Nine

_All the clothes drawers were open but empty and the closets were bare. All that remained in the house was the heavy furniture._

_The Dursley's were gone._

* * *

He should have seen it coming. Things had been going good—too good. It was a fact of Harry's life that things never went according to plan. Chaos followed him. (He remembered the Six and groaned. He should have planned for that.)

The wizardling had honestly not seen this coming. In his past life Vernon had been adamant about not leaving Number Four just because the you-know-whats insisted. Even under the threat of the darkest wizard ever the fat man had hesitated to leave.

Harry laughed a little hysterically. Apparently his actions were just too freaky this time around. His relatives had fled at the first opportunity. The young savior found himself giggling uncontrollably. There hadn't even been any maiming. The cautious voice of Remus broke him out of his building panic.

"Harry…," the werewolf trailed off seeming to not know what to say. It was clear what had happened here, but the Marauder didn't want to seem insensitive.

"They're gone," the Boy-Who-Lived said still in a bit of shock. "They actually left me here."

Remus' eyes flashed amber as he struggled for words before finally settling on, "I'm sorry."

The young seeming boy opened his mouth not sure whether he was going to yell, cry, or start laughing again but a knock on the front door interrupted him.

The pair looked at each other before another knock caused them to hurry downstairs. Harry swiftly opened the door only to be met with the unpleasant sight of Albus too-many-names Dumbledore. The Headmaster of Hogwarts gave the young boy before him Barmy-Old-Man Look #1, a genial smile complete with twinkling blue eyes.

"Ah, Harry, my boy," the elder man said forcing said boy to repress a sneer at being called the Light fool's anything, "I am Professor Dumbledore. I was an old friend of your parents. Might I come in?"

Honestly, if Harry were really a nine year old who had no idea who the creepy old man at the door was there was only one response to a question like that. Before he'd been moved up a couple of grades a police man had come to the young Savior's school to talk about child predators, and the Boy-Who-Lived knew exactly what he was going to do.

The wizardling took a deep breath and screamed loud and long. He watched in satisfaction as the curtains on the neighbor's houses shifted and yelled, "STRANGER DANGER!"

Then Harry promptly slammed the door on the Headmaster's shocked face. In the sudden silence of the house the young savior turned around and caught sight Remus' stunned expression. The sound of the child's giggles broke the Marauder from his stupor, and soon the werewolf was joining in on the humor of the situation.

Their laughter didn't last long as once again knocking sounded from the front door. Moony gave an exasperated sigh when it became clear Harry wasn't going to let the old man in and pushed past the boy to let Dumbledore into the house. The Headmaster seemed surprised at Remus' presence and gave the younger man Disappointed Look #5 as he entered Number Four.

"Remus, I did not expect to find you here," the old goat said still projecting disproval.

Harry had a moment of panic thinking that Moony would tell Dumbles that he'd been running around Diagon Alley. He couldn't afford to have Albus Dumbledore watching him too closely. The young Savior didn't have to worry however as the Marauder covered for him.

"I decided to come check up on my best friend's son," the gentle werewolf replied. "Good thing too as it seems Harry's guardians have abandoned him."

"Ahh, yes. Yes," the Headmaster said dropping the topic of Remus' presence for the true purpose of the old fool's visit. "That is why I've come myself. Though I certainly didn't expect such a welcome."

The old man gave Harry Disappointed Look #2 over his half-moon spectacles which did nothing to make the Boy-Who-Lived repentant. Dumbledore realized this and decided to move things along.

"Why don't we get comfortable and see what can be done to mend the situation," the Headmaster said gesturing towards the living room.

They all settled onto the tacky couches and sat staring at each other. Harry was the first to break the silence. "Why are you here," he demanded.

"Mmm," the old man started, gazing sternly at the young Savior's tone of voice. None the less Dumbles readily answered, "I received an alert that the Dursleys had abandoned Number Four Privet Drive and left you, young Harry, here alone."

"Yes, Professor," Remus interrupted whatever the leader of the Light was going to say next. "I wanted to ask you about that. Petunia? Really," the werewolf demanded amber bleeding into his kind eyes, "Lily explicitly said Harry was to never go to her sister!"

Dumbledore seemed to age before their eyes not that Harry bought the act for a moment. The old man gave a weary sigh and looked earnestly towards the other two, "Things in the Wizarding World were still so dangerous even after the defeat of Voldemort. The Death Eaters were still running amok—just look what happened to dear Frank and Alice a few days later—staying with Petunia, your aunt," now the old man was looking directly at Harry, "would protect you from those who would wish you harm."

Oppressive silence followed the Headmaster's vague explanation. The Boy-Who-Lived didn't think much of the old man's excuse. While it was true that it took a while for the Death Eaters to get caught or go into hiding after Voldy's fall, Harry knew for a fact he was placed with the Dursleys almost immediately after that fateful Halloween night.

Dumbledore couldn't have heard any rumors of Dark Wizards after him, nor would the Ministry have had the time to try and take control of him while they were busy hunting the rest of the Dark Lord's followers. The attack by and capture of the Lestranges showed just how unorganized the Death Eaters became after their leader's 'death'. Their forces probably wouldn't have been able to coordinate an attack on an infant when they were all scrambling not to get sent to Azkaban.

Also, if Dumbles was so concerned about the young Savior's well-being then the old fool would have checked up on him as he was growing up—even if only secretly. This time around Harry was more experienced and sensitive to Magic so he could say for certain that no check had ever been made. All and all the Boy-Who-Lived called B.S.

Remus on the other hand seemed mollified by the answer he'd received. The werewolf rubbed the bridge of his nose before addressing his former Headmaster, "Well, whatever protection she provided him his moot now. They've abandoned him. Where will Harry go now?"

Dumbledore gave another tired sigh, looking as if the world rested on his shoulders, "I will do my best to track down the Dursleys so young Harry can stay under their protection," the young Savior made a noise of protest which the old man ignored. "In the mean time I was thinking he could stay with the Weasleys. They have a boy around his age."

The wizardling felt he had to protest so in his best imitation nine year old he said, "I don't want to go back to the Dursley's they're mean."

The Headmaster turned up the twinkle in his blue eyes and asked, "My dear boy why would they be mean?"

For a millisecond Harry was tempted to quote young Tom Riddle just to unnerve the old man.

_I can talk to snakes. They find me. Whisper things._  Instead he said, "It's because they don't like that I have Magic. They think I'm a freak!"

He continued when Dumbles didn't seem to have a response making sure to stay in his nine year old persona, "They tell lies that Magic isn't real, that mum and dad died in a car accident, but I know they're lying. I remember Magic. I remember the bad man. They're lying meanies."

To his left Remus gave a whimper as he was reminded that Harry apparently remembered his parents' murder. Dumbledore was studying the Boy-Who-Lived looking severe.

"I see," the old man said. "I will be sure to talk to your relatives about what you have told me, my boy." The Headmaster held up a hand to forestall the wizardlings complaints.

"It is still important that you stay with them until your majority which in the Wizarding World is 17," the old fool continued. "Once you come to Hogwarts, a school where you will learn to control your Magic starting at age 11, I will be able to explain in more detail why."

Harry gave an inelegant snort at the thought of Albus too-many-bloody-names Dumbledore actually explaining anything. He received Disappointed look #12 in response but knew whatever Dumbles told him when he started Hogwarts would be as helpful as insulting a hippogriff.

"Well now," the old man clapped looking far too upbeat, "why don't you go gather your things, Harry, and I'll take you to where you'll be staying until the Dursleys are found."

In no time at all the young Savior had gathered what meager belongings he possessed. He placed all the papers pertaining to his business with Gringotts and stored them with Tom's Diary thankful that he had warded that pocket to the high heavens otherwise Dumbledore might have sensed the horcrux. The old man was a fool, but he was a powerful fool.

Harry made his way downstairs to see Remus' sad, guilty face. Dumbledore was already waiting out in the backyard, and he could figure the Headmaster had said something in his absence to upset the gentle werewolf. The wizardling dropped his things by the door and hugged the Marauder.

The other man was clearly shocked by his actions but Harry didn't give the werewolf much time to respond, "You're coming with me right, Uncle Moony?"

"Well, Prongslet, you see—I…I'm," Remus stuttered, "I'm not exactly safe to be around."

The Boy-Who-Lived gave his best puppy dog eyes and could visibly see the Marauder crumbling. "You're not gonna leave me again are ya Uncle Moony?"

He almost had him, just one more push Harry thought. Remus was valiantly trying to hold off defeat, but the young Savior would not lose his family member so easily.

"You don't understand, Harry, I'm dangerous—"

Harry cut off the other man with all the self-righteousness of a nine year old, "I don't care about your furry little problem, Moony," he said as the werewolf choked in surprise.

The young-seeming boy pulled out his ace and green eyes began to fill with tears much to the werewolf's dismay. "Please, Please, Uncle Moony. I don't want to be alone again. I missed you so, so much."

The Boy-Who-Lived could tell he'd won by the way Remus curled around him and slumped like a puppet who's strings had been cut. "I'll visit," he said.

"Promise," Harry begged, not willing to let go until he was sure Remus wouldn't just disappear from his life until third year.

The werewolf hesitated before finally, "I solemnly swear, Prongslet."

The wizardling beamed before finally releasing the other man and reluctantly making his was outside where Dumbles awaited him.

"Ah, Harry my boy, ready to go," the old man asked.

The young Savior didn't respond and just sullenly made his way over to the Headmaster.

"Don't worry, Harry," Dumbledore continued ignoring the Boy-Who-Lived's lack of response. "The Weasley's are a lively, friendly bunch. They'll be more than happy to watch you while I find the Dursleys."

The old fool held out a bright, fuzzy sock monstrosity, "Grab a hold, my boy. As apparition is usually upsetting to the younger wizard and witches we will be taking a Portkey."

Fantastic Harry thought as he grasped a neon green section of sock. He felt the familiar hook around his navel and the next moment the wizardling was face planting the ground. Grumbling to himself about Magicals and their stupid methods of transportation and how he was going to get Nobel to find someone to come up with a better system Harry pushed himself upright.

The Savior of the Wizarding World found his foul mood lifting and a smile tugging on his lips. The wizardling was inundated with memories of his past life, and the family which had come to be near and dear to him. In front of Harry the Weasley home stood in all its haphazard glory.


	11. Better Than a Train Ride Introduction

Chapter 10

_The Savior of the Wizarding World found his foul mood lifting and a smile tugging on his lips. The wizardling was inundated with memories of his past life, and the family which had come to be near and dear to him. In front of Harry the Weasley home stood in all its haphazard glory._

* * *

The Boy-Who-Lived was quick to school his features into an expression of awe. It wouldn't do for Dumbledore to see nostalgia on his face and begin to wonder. The young Savior needn't have bothered as the Headmaster walked past him to the Burrow's front door.

He didn't even offer a hand up, Harry thought. How rude.

By the time the wizardling caught up the old man was already knocking on the door with increasing volume. The muffled shrieks coming through the aged wood probably explained why no one could hear them at the door.

There was one last shout before quiet pervaded inside the house. Finally the door swung open to reveal the plump, motherly figure of Molly Weasley. The ginger matriarch's eyes immediately fell on Dumbledore as Harry was hidden due to the old man's stature.

"Professor! Albus," she exclaimed sounding surprised and worried, "You don't usually leave the castle to visit during the school year. Is it one of the boys? Have Fred and George done something? I told those two if they put another toe out of line—"

"Peace, Molly," the Headmaster interrupted before Mrs. Weasley could erupt into one of her fearsome tempers. "Your boys are fine. I daresay the young Messrs Weasley have brought a certain life to the castle that hasn't been seen in many a year. I have come to you for another matter."

Dumbledore moved to the side revealing Harry. The other woman's eyes alighted on his forehead and widened with recognition. Before she could say anything the old man spoke up, "Might young Harry here play with your children while we speak in the kitchen?"

"O-of course," Mrs. Weasley said standing aside to let them in. She smiled kindly down at the wizardling and gestured towards where he knew the living room was. "Go right through there, Harry dear. My two youngest would be happy to meet you."

Without waiting to see if he complied she turned and led the Headmaster to the kitchen, "You'll have to excuse the mess. I was just preparing dinner. Arthur should be home at any moment..."

The Boy-Who-Lived found himself standing alone in the messy hallway. He was beginning to suspect that Dumbles hadn't even asked the Weasleys if they would take him in for an undetermined amount of time. The old man was just going to dump the young savior on them like he had with the Dursleys. It was quite inconsiderate in Harry's opinion.

A yell from the living room diverted his attentions away from the old fool. The wizardling made sure to cover his famous scar before making his way towards the noise. He entered the cozy living room to find Ginny and Ron fighting over a chess board.

They looked so young was his first thought. Their hair was the unmistakable Weasley red which was currently clashing horribly with the crimson on their still-baby-fat-round cheeks as they continued to argue. Ron and Ginny still had the air of childhood innocence around them.

The shadow of grief from the Second Wizarding War and the loss of their children from the Destruction of Hogwarts was nonexistent There was no hint of the consuming battle readiness of the war with the Mundanes. Ron still had both his eyes and Ginny bore no burn scars. In his past life he'd heard she'd been captured and quite close to dying burned at the stake.

She looked so much like their little Lily had—the same red hair and small, straight nose. Harry was suddenly caught in the realization of what exactly bringing his soulmate back would cost. His sons and daughter would never be born. They would never exist beyond his memory of a long gone future.

He must have made a noise because the pair stopped their yelling and looked over at him. Harry felt gutted at the tawny brown and cornflower blue eyes which seemed to spear his heart even as their owners only gazed at him in curiosity. There was no recognition—not that he had expected there to be, but an irrational part the Boy-Who-Lived had hoped.

* * *

 

_Harry came too suddenly. He kept his eyes closed and remained still as he cataloged how he felt. The Savior was already quite used to waking up from some injury or another and knew better than to make sudden motions until he was sure it wouldn't send the healers in threating to spell him to the bed._

_Oddly enough there was no pain which confused him as even being completely healed left one sore for a little while. Only the most minor of injuries could be fixed instantly and painlessly. Being shot by Muggle weaponry was not one such injury._

_Setting aside the mystery of his health and accepting the fact he was okay, the Man-Who-Conquered (as they had taken to calling him after his defeat of Voldyshorts) shifted his focus to his surroundings._

_The sound of sobbing caused him to open his eyes and jolt upright. The first thing he saw was the shocked, red-rimmed blue eyes of his best friend. He was about to ask Ron what was going on when a there was a gasp, and a missile with a head of fuzzy, brown hair bulldozed into him._

_The Boy-Who-Lived braced himself for pain as Hermione gave him one of her signature tight hugs but again there was nothing. The only effect of his run in with a bullet was a bit of stiffness in his limbs. His other best friend was still holding onto him tightly and babbling incomprehensibly so Harry took the moment to look around the room he was in._

_He was actually laying on the ground of the Malfoy's grand foyer, the high vaulted ceilings and expensive knickknacks clueing him in. Draco's pale, shocked looking face a few feet from him served as another hint. Then he noticed he was sitting in a rather large pool of blood._

" _Er," he said. How does one delicately ask what the bloody hell was going on?_

_He didn't seem to have to come up with a question as his noise broke the silent stupor of the others._

" _You were dead," was Ron's tactless exclamation. Her husband's words finally broke Hermione from her hysterics._

_She turned to the red head releasing Harry from her death hold, "Ronald! Honestly!"_

" _It's true, Pot-Head," Draco said looking uncomfortable to be agreeing with a Weasley even if they all had become sort-of friends after the war._

_Hermione once more entrapped him with one of her Devil's Snare Hugs™ while Ron looked on in sympathy even as the ginger's face relaxed with relief._

" _Oh, Harry, it was awful," his bookish friend cried. "Malfoy floo called us saying that you had appeared with a child in your arms at his manor and then collapsed and that you'd been fatally shot and when we hurried over you were just lying there not moving and—"_

" _Woah, Hermione," the Savior said soothingly, gently rubbing her back and silently begging Ron for help. The traitor simply raised gave him two thumbs up and Malfoy certainly wasn't going to step in, neither of them really wanted to handle a crying woman._

" _Hermione, slowdown," Harry said as she continued to babble, "I'm alright. And clearly not dead so—"_

_Wrong thing to say, he winced as his female friend sat up with a screech, "Harry James Potter!"_

_Said man floundered as she began raining blows everywhere she could reach. It didn't hurt, but the shock of it all kept him quiet. "Don't try to play this off," the enraged woman exclaimed, punctuating each word with a smack. "You'd been shot, Harry! There was a hole in your chest!"_

" _Ron and I rush in and see you lying in a pool of blood with a large, gaping wound in your chest." Hermione finally stopped smacking him only to glare at a reticent Man-Who-Conquered. "You. Were. Dead."_

_Harry sat there sheepishly one hand going to rub over his chest where he suddenly felt the phantom pain of being shot while the other ran through his hair in a nervous habit he'd never bothered to break._

" _I don't know what to say guys," He remarked as the other three watched him intently. "Ginny and I fought," he winced remembering the harsh words they both probably regretted. "And I apparated away. Into some kind of Muggle lynch mob. There was a child," He suddenly cut off, looking around in alarm._

" _Calm down, Scar-Head," Draco said rolling his eyes, "Astoria's looking after the kid right now."_

_Harry nodded at the other man in gratitude ignoring the name-calling as it had become part of the familiar banter between the two of them. He let his hands fall to his side only to yelp and snatch them back up as a familiar energy zapped up his arms. The others gathered closer in alarm as he looked at the two items which he swore weren't there before._

_Sitting on the ground innocently and untouched by his blood were the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone. Harry felt an inexplicable urge and reached for the moleskin pouch around his neck to pull out the Invisibility Cloak he'd recovered from the ruins of the school._

" _Aren't those," Ron started only to trail off unsure._

_Harry easily finished the sentence for him._

" _The Deathly Hallows."_

* * *

 

The wizardling was pulled from his memory by a calloused, dirty hand being thrust in his face. He followed the hand to the freckled face of the youngest Weasley male. Both children were now standing in front of him.

"I'm Ron. Ron Weasley," the boy said and then gestured with his head towards his sister, "And this is my sissy, Ginerva."

Said sister promptly stomped her foot and said, "My name is Ginny. G. I. N. N. Y. and I'm not a sissy!"

The young Savior found himself smiling at their byplay. He reached out and easily grasped the slightly sweaty hand, "I'm Harry."

"Well, Harry," Ginny said, easily taking charge, "Do you want to play Wizards and Dragons with us? Ron just wants to play chess all the time." She was pouting and Harry found himself smiling more broadly.

"I'm afraid I don't know how to play," he replied, letting go of Ron's hand to stare at the two children before him.

Ron scrunched his nose in distaste, "You sound like our brother Percy. He always tries to sound grown-up."

Ginny actually stomped on her brother's foot causing the boy to yelp and jump around in pain. "Ron, don't be mean or I'll tell Mom on you."

The other boy scowled, "It's true. He sounds ponce-like."

Harry laughed preventing the two from entering an all-out row. Ron was still as tactless as ever, and Ginny was still as no nonsense when it came to her brothers as he remembered. Seeing them now so young and childlike but still so much like their older selves eased a bit of the grief he hadn't been aware he'd been holding onto.

"I'm sorry," he said when the two scowled at him for laughing, "I've never had any friends before so I don't know how I'm supposed to act." At least, he had no friends in this life and it had been a while since any of his friends had been alive in his last one.

Both Weasley siblings' eyes widened in horror and immediately they scrambled to reassure him.

"Don't worry, mate," Ron said, "Well be your friends."

"Yeah," Ginny agreed, "and we'll teach you all our games and how to not act ponce-y like our brother Percy."

"Ha," Ron crowed, seemingly distracted from the horror of Harry not having any friends  _ever_  by his sister's words. "So you agree with me that he sounds like a ponce, like Percy."

"Roooon," she said, rolling her eyes, "It was still mean to say and Mum doesn't like us using words like Ponce."

Unfortunately for Harry's growing amusement their building fight was interrupted by the family clock chiming as one of the hands moved from 'WORK' to 'HOME.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for your comments! And for Subscribing/Bookmarking my story!!! I'm glad to know people are still enjoying my story so far XD
> 
> Anyway stay safe on this Friday the 13th. If you hear a chainsaw in the night. Run.
> 
> Waste vasts amount of salt over your shoulder and into the eyes of your enemies.
> 
> Pet the black cats so they don't cross your path.
> 
> Fierce. Out.


	12. The Moon is a Loyal Companion

Chapter 11

_Unfortunately for Harry's growing amusement their building fight was interrupted by the family clock chiming as one of the hands moved from 'WORK' to 'HOME.'_

* * *

A few weeks later the Boy-Who-Lived found himself sleeping in Bill and Charlie's old room. Both Weasleys had already finished Hogwarts and were out of the country preparing for their chosen career fields. Even with the other boys' childhood mementoes spread about, the room still managed to feel more homey than the room he'd commandeered from the Dursley's. There was something different about a bed and furniture that was not transfigured.

His anonymity as 'Just Harry' had not lasted much longer after Arthur Weasley's return from work. Ginny had immediately fallen into red-faced fan girl mode once she was informed of his identity. The youngest Weasley was still fleeing from any room he entered.

The young Savior had honestly forgotten how bad her crush was when she was younger. He could only hope she would grow out of her hopeless infatuation quickly. Until then he tried to act as normal as possible in the few moments they'd interacted with each other.

Ron hadn't been as bad as his sister, but he had still acted a little star struck by the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Wait til Fred 'n George hear this," the red head had said, mouth full of his mother's food. "They're gonna be so jealous that I got to hang out with The Harry Potter!"

The youngest Weasley male had shoveled some mash and peas into his mouth, table manners just as bad as Harry remembered—even worse without Hermione's influence.

"Ha," the other boy had laughed, flashing the table with the masticated mess in his mouth and not caring. "They were acting so high and mighty to be going to Hogwarts. Well we'll show them, won't we, mate?"

Ron's enthusiasm had lasted up until Molly told her two children they wouldn't be able to tell anyone Harry was there not even in letters.

"It's for his protection," she'd said. "You'll just have to wait until Christmas to let your brothers know."

The red headed boy's disappointment had only lasted another few bites before he'd quickly gotten over it whispering to Harry he would just get to rub it in the twin's faces in person. After that the other boy had asked if he really had a scar to the scandalized admonishment of Mrs. Weasley.

Since then the wizardling had come to realize how truly immature the child version of his best friend was. The young Savior had not thought he would ever feel lonely at the Burrow, but he was. The Ronald Weasley of now was not, and would probably never be, the Ron he'd known in his former life. He couldn't count on the other boy to have his back in life-threatening fights. They no longer had the history he remembered.

There were no memories of awkwardly comforting each other from the horrors of war (both of them). This Ron hadn't mourned the loss of Hogwarts and the children. There were no battles were the only thing keeping them alive was each other and Hermione.

This Ron was a normal nine year old child whose biggest concern was deknomeing the garden every other week. They truly had little in common now that Harry was a war-exhausted grown-up trapped in his childhood body. For a moment the wizardling laid in his borrowed bed and again mourned the loss of his best friend who was there and yet lacked all the things which had made them best mates.

The Boy-Who-Lived had considered contacting dear Lucy to set his plan to free Sirius into motion. He would have after this first week of playing kid games and being babied by Mrs. Weasley, but he'd been in another how-to-not-act-poncey-like-Percy lesson by Ron when he'd realized the one good thing that could come from being at the Weasleys and having to constantly wear a mask.

Peter Pettigrew.

In the dark of Bill and Charlie's bedroom his mouth curled into a smirk. Harry could last until Winter Holidays, and then he would have some fun. The rat would finally face justice, and Sirius would be free. It would all be much sooner than the young Savior had planned, but maybe things would be better for it.

The original plan had meant he wouldn't be able to set Lucy to freeing his Godfather until he started Hogwarts. Now, Sirius could be a free man as soon as next year. A year made all the difference to someone in Azkaban. With Pettigrew, the other man's release would happen much more easily and quickly.

Harry settled more comfortably on the bed and willed himself to fall asleep. Remus had owled asking the Weasleys if he'd be okay to visit tomorrow. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had sent the werewolf a welcoming reply and the Marauder would arrive sometime after lunch. The wizardling was glad to see the gentle wizard keeping his word. Plus it would be easier to get a certain rat caught if the other man was a regular guest of the Burrow.

Remus was a constant guest at the Weasley home with the exception of the week of the full moon. Molly mother-henned the Marauder relentlessly. He was too skinny, she told him, and despite the gentle wizard's protests the fearsome Weasley matriarch ensured there was a hearty meal ready every time the other man came to visit.

Eventually Remus had accepted it, grumbling about forces of nature as Molly piled a third helping of food onto his plate. Ron and Ginny came to quickly adapt the Wizard's presence in their life especially since the werewolf was easy to charm out of some chocolate. The Marauder was a true sucker for the puppy dog eyes.

Ron's only complaint about the older wizard was that Remus insisted on taking over their lessons 'to repay Molly for her generous hospitality.' The man really loathed the idea of charity, and so he took over their schooling, making sure they practiced their reading and writing. The werewolf even introduced the younger two Weasleys to maths.

When the gentle werewolf had noticed his boredom and ease at the lessons he'd cornered the wizardling, and a sheepish Harry told the other man about his being moved up several grades. The Marauder had looked at the young Savior sadly, and quietly said that Lily would have been so proud.

It was an emotional moment for the both of them. Afterwards, since Harry was ahead of Remus in Mundane education—the older wizard having secondary-level schooling to the wizardling's university level—the werewolf decided to teach him something called Pranking 101.

The Boy-Who-Lived loved those days with Remus. He was getting to see a side of his father's friend he'd never gotten to know in his previous life. The young Savior had always wondered how someone as intelligent and quiet as Remus could be a prankster. After the first time he'd been stuck with Malfoy blond hair but Weasley orange eyebrows Harry no longer had any doubts as to the other man's Marauder status.

Perhaps the best part of their time together was the stories about his parents he'd never before gotten to hear. The wizardling laughed himself to tears over tales of his father's antics and the staff's ever growing headaches due to the four of them. Sometimes Remus would go silent at a mention of Sirius or Harry would have to grit his teeth about Pettigrew. On those occasions the Boy-Who-Lived would ask about Lily.

"She had been so kind and smart and vibrant," the werewolf would say with a sad smile. "But you never wanted to get on her bad side. Lily had quite the temper, and for their first few years at Hogwarts, James had the unfortunate habit of setting her off."

Harry had fallen to the floor laughing when Remus told him his mother had once put Muggle itching power on all four of the Marauder's clothes.

"We couldn't figure it out," the werewolf said with humor. "We tried every counter charm and potion, but nothing worked. That was also the week the house elves stopped washing our laundry as protest for an ill-thought prank on the kitchens."

The other wizard's visits made pretending to be a child more bearable for the young Savior, and before he knew it Halloween had arrived. Harry never really got over his stigma of the day even though the tragedies of his previous later life didn't really coincide with October 31st .

The Boy-Who-Lived spent his day outside and away from the Weasleys at the Burrow. Remus was absent, but the wizardling didn't hold it against him. Sometimes looking at Ginny was still hard because of the traces of Lily Luna he could see in her, for the Marauder to see him—an almost exact copy of his father—well, he understood.

The Weasley's tried to be sympathetic, but for them Halloween was a day of celebration. The day the Dark Lord was defeated. There was a feast going on at Hogwarts. The Ministry let its employees go home early as evidenced by Mr. Weasley's humble presence at the Burrow three hours before supper.

Harry left them to their festivity and wandered the countryside around Ottery St. Catchpole. Tom was his soulmate and he would bring the man back, but the young Savior could admit Voldemort had needed to be stopped. The Dark Lord's actions would have only brought the Mundanes' wrath on the Wizarding World sooner. Hopefully, when the older wizard returned he would be saner.

The wizardling would acknowledge only to himself that he slept with Tom Riddle's diary under his pillow every night. The silent pulses from the trapped half-soul lulling him into dreamless sleep. During the day the diary was kept in an expanded, warded pocket. He didn't want history to repeat itself so he kept the little black book under lock and key.

Even with only two Weasley children there was hardly ever a private moment at the Burrow so Harry didn't try to write in the journal though it called to him. Despite his current body the Boy-Who-Lived was not actually a child and he would have patience.

The snapping of a twig to his left immediately had Harry on guard. The young Savior scanned the woods feeling in his gut that he was no longer alone. The rustling of leaves alerted the wizardling to the fact that the presence was headed his way, and he readied his Magic to defend himself.

A familiar, though short, figure wandered into sight. She wasn't looking at him and didn't even seem to know Harry was there. She had a bottlecap necklace and her silvery, blonde hair was littered with leaves and twigs. Dreamy, blue eyes passed over the trees of the forest without focus.

"Luna," the young Savior whispered in surprise.

His friend didn't even turn in the Boy-Who-Lived's direction, and he wondered if maybe she hadn't heard him, but then she spoke.

"Harry Potter, the Favored Childe," she said, child's voice like the rustle of leaves in the wind.

"Er—what," was his choked reply. His friend ignored him, humming a random tune while rocking back and forth on her heels.

The silence stretched between them, and Harry was about to break it when Luna once again spoke up, "You have been favored by the Six. Those who created our world and gifted it to us. They who Guard the Souls."

She turned to him then with a serene smile and faraway gaze. The wizardling felt hope stir in his chest.

"Luna," he called, hardly daring to breathe, "do you remember—"

"No," she interrupted, sharp and bell like. "I am the me of here not the me of there. You are the only one from there."

He paused in confusion before realizing she wasn't going to continue unless prompted.

"Then how do you know," he asked, knowing he didn't have to clarify. Luna had been a Ravenclaw and though she acted lost in the clouds his friend was quite intelligent.

Crystal blue eyes locked with his emerald green. Harry felt as if her gaze pierced him more than Dumbledore's ever did. She studied him for several long moments, and the wizardling stood still awaiting his friend's judgement. The distant stare returned to her eyes and he knew he had passed when she next spoke.

"Those of Lovegood blood have long been favored by Fate to see the strings of her design. You are their Childe. The istós* dances for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *web (Greek)
> 
> I'm trying to skip ahead some in time so sorry if this doesn't have as much Weasley stuff as people might want, but in exchange LUNA! Who is my fav.
> 
> I've gotten a lot of commentary thanking me for not making this Weasley Bashing, and you're welcome. I just figured that even if my Harry isn't going to be as close to the Weasleys as he was he still has plenty of fond memories of them. Also while the characters may have their negative qualities I don't think they're bad-so no bashing just Weasley norm shenanigans I hope.
> 
> Those comments did make me wonder if I should put a warning for Dumbledore Bashing? I'm not sure because I feel like I'm not so much as making Dumbles so out of character bad as just having Harry notice the old mans faults (since he's not a naive child). Let me know what you guys think?
> 
> Also thanks so much to everyone who is subscribed, has bookmarked, and commented on my story-you guys are awesome, and also life savers! (You see, what had happened was I totally forgot Peter Pettigrew would be at the Weasley's until someone said something #~#)
> 
> Fierce. Out.


	13. Time Heals All Wounds But Leaves a Scar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry to my subscribers for my three (i think it was three?) week long absence. I had a lot of assignments to handle, and truthfully, I just wasn't in the right state of mind to write. For a good week and a half I could hardly bring myself to care about going to class.
> 
> But! I am over my slump and ready to present you with a new chapie (The ending is a little tease/gift to apologize). All of ya'll's comments meant so much to me. Brightens my day, honestly.
> 
> Anyway, thanks to everyone who commented and who are subscribed or have bookmarked this story. You all rock!

Chapter 12

" _Those of Lovegood blood have long been favored by Fate to see the strings of her design. You are their Childe. The istós* dances for you."_

* * *

 For Harry things were less lonely after his encounter with Luna. She was still the eight year old version of his friend, but her knowledge set him at ease. The following weeks were spent running through the woods searching for Luna's fantastical creatures and having confusing discussions about the Six.

Ron was immediately jealous of Harry's new friend often complaining loudly about the Boy Who Lived no longer spending time with him.

"I don't understand why you want to spend time with her," the red headed boy whined as the young Savior was preparing to head off into the woods to meet up with Luna to search for something called a Humdinger.

Harry ignored the child version of his best friend as the other's words were nothing new. Ron had hardly kept quiet about his opinions since the young Savior had started hanging out with the younger girl.

"You could join us if you wanted, Ron," the Boy-Who-Lived said in exasperation.

"No way," the red head vehemently denied. "I don't want to hang around Looney Lovegood!"

That set off Harry' temper and with a wave of his hand the wizardling turned the Weasley's hair Malfoy blonde before stomping away towards the woods.

Ron would only figure out what the young Savior had done when he went to pester his mother for food and Molly exclaimed about his hair.

She would be unable to turn it back and tutted about her ward's strong accidental magic. It took a week for the hair to fade back to Weasley red. Ronald never made another bad-mouth remark about Luna where Harry could hear it after that.

Ginny was still flighty about the Boy-Who-Lived, and would often watch him leave with longing. The wizardling was eager for the girl to get over her crush, but at the way things were looking it wouldn't be anytime soon.

He did try to hang out with Ron and even Ginny, but his memories got in the way more often then not. Life at the Burrow continued with Harry now having someone to regularly spend time with who didn't drive him crazy. However, there was a little hiccup when Mrs. Weasley found one of his hidden food stashes while cleaning his borrowed room.

She'd sent Ron and Ginny out of the kitchen to wash their hands and get ready for bed leaving only herself, Arthur Weasley, and Harry. The Boy-Who-Lived was immediately suspicious.

"Am I in trouble," he asked looking between the two adults who seemed to be having a silent discussion that all parents became skilled in.

"No, of course not, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley finally said. She looked over her young charge with concern, "Arthur and I just have some things we wish to talk about with you."

"Oh," the wizardling said still not sure what was going on. "Have the Dursleys been found?"

It was Arthur who answered this time. "Not yet, young Harry, but don't you worry. Professor Dumbledore hasn't given up on finding them."

The young Savior couldn't hold back a scowl at the thought of going back to Durzkaban, and the Weasley parents shared a loaded look at his expression.

Finally the Weasley matriarch decided to get to the point. "You see, Harry, I was cleaning the upstairs rooms, and I found…"

Here she paused and the Boy-Who-Lived had a sinking feeling he knew what she was about to say. Mrs. Weasley still looked unsure how to continue but a reassuring nod from her husband bolstered her reserve.

"I found some food hidden away in your room, dear," she said looking at Harry with concern. "I just wanted to ask if we've not been feeding you enough? Or if there is something wrong you'd like to tell us about?"

Harry gnawed on his lips wondering how to explain. It hadn't been a problem to hoard food at the Dursleys because they couldn't get into his room. He might be in his younger, healthier body, but mentally the young Savior still carried scars from his previous life.

Famine after the Mundane-Magical war had left the wizardling with the acute memory of starvation and hunger. He'd once thought meals at the Dursley's were bad, but they were nothing compared to watching his stomach bloat with emptiness. Harry once was trapped in a cycle of starvation and death—coming back again and again, too weak to move, still hungry—until a rare kind soul had spared him a morsel of food and nursed him back to health.

It became a comfort to have food with him always. The wizardling usually had one of Remus' Honeydukes' chocolate bars in his pocket (they were charmed so he didn't have to worry about them melting and making a mess). From the sound of things, Mrs. Weasley had only found one of a couple of hidden stashes of food he'd kept in the room they'd given him.

He gathered his thoughts as two Magicals standing in front of him began to show traces of concern at his prolonged silence. The young savior decided to keep it simple.

"It was—it was just in case," he knew that wasn't going to be enough, but it was best to let them think he was reluctant to talk about it.

"In case of what, dear," Mrs. Weasley asked now blatantly showing her worry. Arthur was sitting beside her also becoming more troubled.

Young and traumatized. Young and traumatized. Harry chanted to himself.

"In case you got mad and decided to stop feeding a no-gooder like me."

He knew his response shocked them to their cores by their simultaneous gasps, but he kept his eyes focused on the ground, all the more to look ashamed.

"Harry," that was Arthur sounding gentle. "We'd never stop feeding you. Why would you think…"

Mr. Weasley couldn't even bring himself to finish.

The Boy-Who-Lived shrugged his shoulders, "The Dursleys would get mad and stop feeding me all the time. I just wanted to be prepared."

The wizardling looked up then and caught Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's expressions of shock-sadness-protective-rage.

Young and traumatized. He repeated to himself.

"I—I can put it back if you want," he asked.

"No," Mr. Weasley said when it was clear Molly was unable to say anything. She was standing stock still and slowly turning red in the face. "No," he continued, "You can—you can keep the food. Er, why don't you go get ready for bed? Molly and I have some things to talk about."

Harry looked at the two people who had been like parents to him in another life. Mr. Weasley who was normally cheerful seemed drawn and tired, and he could tell Mrs. Weasley was about to burst into one of her infamous tempers. The wizardling decided on a quick exit and was out in the living room in a heartbeat.

"THEY WERE STARVING HIM, ARTH—"

By the abrupt way the woman was cut off the Boy-Who-Lived figured Mr. Weasley must have silenced the room. He turned and made his way as quietly as possible upstairs. The wizardling was about to enter his borrowed room when a wild Ginny appeared from the shadows. She looked nervous but determined.

"H—Harry, can we talk," she asked staring down at her old house slippers.

The young Savior wanted to groan. He might have been the most oblivious boy growing up, but even he could tell where this conversation was headed. Handling the little girl crush of the person who had grown up to become his wife was not an experience the wizardling had ever wanted to have. Still, he would be polite about it.

"Yes, Ginny?" He answered while turning around to face the eight year old.

Her face turned a shade of red to match her hair. The youngest Weasley child seemed to freeze.

After a couple of minutes, Harry prompted, "Ginny?"

"HarryIreallylikelikeyouandwaswonderingifyou'dholdmyhandandbemyboyfriend," she said in a rush.

"Er, what," the Boy-Who-Lived asked having understood none of what the girl had said.

Ginny took a deep breath and repeated herself more slowly.

"H—Harry, I really l—like like you and was wondering if you'd hold my hand and be my boyfriend."

The wizardling sighed quietly in exhaustion. The question, while not surprising, made Harry realize just how young the girl in front of him was. Even if he held absolutely zero interest in her now, the wizardling knew part of him would always miss the woman Ginny had been (would become?). They'd had three beautiful children together. Children that would never exist now.

"I'm sorry, Ginny," he said gently. "I don't like like you like that."

"Oh," was her small response. Her eyes were starting to turn red, and warning signs were flashing in his mind. Harry never handled crying women, or girls, well.

He tried to offer her some kind of comfort.

"It's just that you're like a sister I never knew, and that would be icky," the young Savior said with an exaggerated expression of disgust.

The young girl before him gave a wet laugh before launching herself at him. The Boy-Who-Lived caught her in an clumsy hug. He patted her awkwardly on the head before she finally let him go.

She still looked like she was about to cry, but now there was a mischievous smirk on her face—the same as Fred and George's. It took all his battle experience to not step back. He knew better than to show weakness.

"Then tomorrow I'll have to give you the true Weasley Brother Welcome," she said a little too brightly.

Harry could only watch stunned as she turned a walked away. A shiver of dread crawled its way down his spine. He honestly would never understand the opposite sex.

The wizardling decided he'd had enough of standing around looking like an idiot and finally entered his room. He didn't bother turning on the lights and dressed in the dark removing Tom's diary from an enlarged pocket.

The Boy-Who-Lived cradled the black journal in his hands as he settled onto the bed. He traced his fingers over the spine and let the magic of his soulmate comfort him. The young Savior felt wide awake. The day's confrontations had brought up several memories better left buried.

Harry traced the spot where he could just make out the golden lettering of Tom's name. For the first time the wizardling found himself wondering where a young Riddle had gotten such a high end object. The other boy had been an orphan like him only one without a family fortune to fall back on. Had the diary been a gift? A trinket to curry favor from one of his followers-to-be?

The diary was of good make and obviously important enough for the budding Dark Lord to use as a container for his soul. Maybe once he'd fixed the other man Harry would ask him. Or…

He absentmindedly opened the diary to the first, blank page and stared at it. Now that it was open, Tom's magic had become more active. The Boy-Who-Lived felt a light tendril of magic brush against him, leaving the wizardling with the sudden compulsion to  _write_.

Well, he thought to himself, he'd made it this far. This was the first time in months he'd felt truly tempted to communicate with the diary version of Tom. Before, the young Savior never trusted himself to be left alone long enough to try. Now, however, he figured it'd be okay. Ginny wasn't going to bother him after his rejection and Ron was probably already dead to the world. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would be caught up in the little bomb shell he'd dropped.

This was as alone as he would get. The older Weasley children were due back for Christmas break in a week, and then he'd never have peace. Plus part of him was tired of holding back. He  _missed_  Tom for all that he'd never had a meaningful conversation with the man that didn't involve the other trying to kill him.

Decision made, Harry summoned a quill and some ink left behind by the eldest Weasley children. The compulsion from the diary grew stronger and he didn't even try to fight it. The wizardling tapped the feathered end of the quill against his lips as he thought about what to write.

A smirk curled its way across his face as he finally dipped the quill in ink and put nib to paper.

**Hello, Sexy. Come here often?**


	14. Harry Potter and the Teenage Dark Lord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, StasiaRavenclaw for being my 100th reviewer!!! Four for you Glen Coco, you go Glen Coco.

Chapter 13

_A smirk curled its way across his face as he finally dipped the quill in ink and put nib to paper._

_**Hello, Sexy. Come here often?** _

* * *

The words stayed on the page longer than Harry expected before they faded away. The wizardling eagerly waited for the response of his Soulmate.

And waited.

and…waited.

With a silent huff of frustration the young Savior put quill to paper once more.

**What's the matter? Gryffindor got your tongue?**

These words were faster to fade, but still no response appeared. The Boy-Who-Lived stretched out his magic to brush against the diary's and got a sense of perturbed wariness. Maybe he had come on too strong?

Finally a distinctive script appeared.

**Hello.**

**My name is Tom.**

**Might I ask who you are?**

Harry once more felt the tendrils of compulsion, a feather-light touch which the wizardling wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been devoting his entire attention to the diary. This time he pointedly batted the tender-hooks of his soulmate's magic away.

**Rude.**

**No need for compulsions, Tom. I am happy to answer your questions.**

Tom's magic shrunk away, but the feeling of wariness increased. The young Savior could practically feel the gears of that cunning mind turning.

**My apologies.**

The words faded, and Harry was left staring at a blank page. He got a sense of expectation from the horcrux and merely got comfortable. A minute passed, then two. Finally, with barely controlled irritation, Tom wrote:

**Who are you?**

And really, for all that Tom Riddle was his Soulmate, the Boy-Who-Lived just couldn't pass up an opportunity like that. So he responded:

**I am the one who killed you.**

The words disappeared quickly, and with his magic still brushing against the diary's the young Savior knew exactly when his words had sunk in. Shock. Fear…Fury.

Suddenly the magic in the diary surged. Tender-hooks became chains, and Harry's mind was ensnared too fast for him to react. The feeling of being pulled forwards was the same as he remembered from his second year, long ago.

The landing wasn't as nice.

The wizardling lay groaning on worn stone—stone the likes of which he'd once walked over a thousand times. Harry was back at Hogwarts, or, at least, the sepia-like memory of it. The young Savior didn't have much time for nostalgia as he found himself lifted up and pinned against a wall.

"So you're the one who claims to have killed me," the familiar voice of Tom Riddle drawled—cold and furious.

The journey into the diary had been disorienting so it took Harry a few moments to come to some key realizations. The first being that he didn't feel like he was in the body of a nine year old. The wizard was sure that if he could look in a mirror he'd see himself as he was when he died: frozen at 17. It made sense. Mentally he was no mere child.

The Man-Who-Conquered set aside his long standing identity crisis for the second key realization: Tom Riddle at sixteen was bloody hot.

The sixteen year old version of Tom Riddle was suave silk over edged marble. His dark hair was coifed in a 40s style—parted harshly on the right side with a slight wave in texture. His facial features were aristocratic and timeless. The Slytherin was extremely handsome.

And he looked homicidal.

Harry winced as the magic holding him up pressed him more roughly into the wall. The Savior had never been one to take abuse lying down. Not even the Dursleys or Snape or Armageddon had been able to kill his sass.

"Seeing as you were trying to murder me I'd call us even," he said grunting in frustration. "Except that you gave it a lot more shots than I did. I'd quit the murdering business if I were you. You really suck at it."

He grew tired of his tenure as a wall tapestry and reached out with his own magic to free himself. Unfortunately, he didn't account for the two feet between him and the floor and promptly crumpled into an inglorious heap.

By the time he righted himself, Tom's fury had chilled into cool cunning. Soot black eyes assessed him. Harry was irritated to find that even physically a year older than the Slytherin he had to crane his neck to meet the gaze of his Soulmate.

"And what brings my supposed vanquisher here," the other teen asked.

"All those years trapped in your diary must have really affected your memory," Harry quipped. "You brought me here, or don't you remember, Tom?"

Those eyes flashed red before returning to lifeless black. The Man-Who-Conquered felt a sharp stab of legilimency impact his occlumency shields. His scar stung as the horcrux within him reacted to the attack but he managed to keep the young Dark Lord out.

* * *

  _Harry was stationed somewhere in the ancient foothills of China. It was his first time out of England but the war meant he could hardly enjoy it. He and his men were tasked with guarding an ancient wizarding monastery._

_The posting was supposed to be a relaxing one. The temple they were protecting didn't rely on wards so much as the fact that it was almost impossible to find due to the surrounding terrain. There were no nearby settlements—magical or mundane._

_The Savior was sitting on a low wall. The temple was arrayed behind him and to the left was a waterfall. The water vapor barely obscured the jungle vista. His men were up at the top of the fall daring each other to jump. Harry didn't have to worry about their safety too much. There were no sharp rocks at the bottom and the water was deep enough to catch them._

_They'd invited him to join them, but the Man-Who-Conquered wasn't in the mood. He'd received a message the other day from Neville. His friend had been injured fighting Mundanes and was on forced leave for two weeks._

" _Your thoughts are loud, young one," came a gentle voice from behind him._

_Harry turned to see one of the temple residents an elderly man dressed in homespun robes. The Savior was once again thankful for the translation talisman the mages at the temple had given them upon arrival so they could communicate. Although, he still found it weird that none of the monks had names—apparently they renounced them._

" _I apologize, sir," the Man-Who-Conquered responded, once more turning back to face the jungle. He felt more than saw the monk join him. "I'm afraid I've never been good at silencing my thoughts."_

_He had a momentary flashback to Snape yelling at him to clear his mind and discipline his thoughts. Those occlumency lessons had been horrible, and the price of his failure for being unable to master that branch of the mind arts still haunted him._

" _Nonsense," said the elderly mage. "You simply have never had someone show you how. Come."_

_The older man gestured for Harry to follow him and they both left the jungle view for the depths of the temple. Once inside the ancient stone walls the magic of the place became clear. According to the monks, the monastery was on an intersection of Ley Lines, though not as big as the one Hogwarts had once rested on; however, this temple had been here long before the founding of the school._

_The monk led him deeper into the monastery. They passed other mages who all bowed respectfully to the elder man. Bluebell Flames lit their way floating freely on invisible currents. Eventually, the two came to a stop outside a plain wooden door._

_Inside was a garden filled with magic. It was all centered around a natural spring. Every leaf and stem, even the grass, was a thriving verdant. The flowers were larger than normal and the air smelt fresh even as they were deep inside the temple._

_The elderly man settled on a clear patch of grass and knelt. Rheumy eyes looked back at Harry who had hesitated at the door. The Man-Who-Conquered found himself blushing and moved to quickly settle next to the other man mirroring the monk's posture._

" _Now close your eyes," the monk said eyes already shut._

_The Savior was quick to follow._

" _Listen to your thoughts," the sage continued. "Let them come and go…"_

_The elder continued to speak, voice blending in with the sounds of the spring next to them though Harry had no trouble listening. He thought about how weird this encounter was. He thought about Neville and how he was glad the other was okay. He thought about the war and how he wished it would just end._

_The Savior almost missed his days of fighting against Voldemort. Back when he had a clear enemy who he could stop to end the conflict. He thought about Riddle and his horcruxes. He thought about his scar and what it had once contained._

_He thought about dying and coming back. The first time._

_And the second time. When he realized the Deathly Hallows would not let him go._

_Harry thought about his children and how he missed them still. How he'd give anything to have them back in his arms. To have them safe. He thought of his mother and his father. Sirius and Remus._

_He went through a mental list of all those who had died and who he mourned. His thoughts came and went. The Savior didn't linger over his grief and didn't hold onto the memories of his loved ones. He let them flow through him like water over a stone._

_Eventually his mind went quiet. Harry felt disembodied, as if he was floating around in a golden place of nothing._

_A gentle hand on his shoulder jerked him back to awareness. The elderly man gave him a soft smile._

" _That is enough for today," the monk said, easing to his feet. "It is almost time for dinner, and your men will wonder where you have gone."_

_The Man-Who-Conquered silently followed after the elder thoughts still muted. Both parted ways at the communal dinning hall. The sage rejoined his brethren and Harry turned to sit with his men. He soon found himself joining in on their bawdy jokes. For the first time in months he was feeling relaxed._

_Everyday after that he would join the elderly monk in that room for meditation. After a couple of weeks the sage started guiding him though building basic defenses for his mind. He was quick to learn because he had actually done something similar when he was a child locked away in his cupboard._

* * *

"Again, rude," he said with forced ease. His occlumency shields were probably strong enough now to fight off Dumbledore if the old geezer gave it a real try, but Harry's connection via the horcrux meant he would always be susceptible to Tom. The plus side was that the connection worked both ways.

"As I said before, Tom," the Savior continued, "I am happy to answer your questions, there's no need for more… drastic measures."

He couldn't help but smirk at the other's irritated expression. Apparently Riddle developed a little tick in his left eyebrow when he was vexed.

"You could probably ask more relevant questions if you're dissatisfied with the state of my answers."

The prickling in his scar told Harry that he'd really annoyed the teen but the other kept their expression schooled. Still, the Slytherin spat out his next question almost biting off each word.

"How did you come to be in possession of my diary?"

"I got it from a particularly helpful blonde," the Man-Who-Conquered responded.

This answer was clearly unsatisfactory to the fledgling Dark Lord, the little tick becoming more pronounced.

"Why?"

Harry could take that question in many ways. Why did he have the diary? Why did said blonde hand it over? The Savior decided he was going to be particularly petty.

"Why did he give it to me? Well, because I asked for it." The Savior gave a billion-watt smile.

Tom growled, actually growled in frustration, eyes once more flashing red.

"Do not play with me!" The other demanded. The Slytherin prowled forward, crowding Harry into a wall and looming over him threateningly. "Why do you have my diary? For what purpose!?"

The Man-Who-Conquered was having a difficult time focusing as the taller teen invaded his space. It was hard for him to remember that this was just a younger version of his soulmate. The Tom Riddle of the diary was sixteen. Still a minor…already a murderer.

"You're my soulmate," he finally responded, green eyes staring into the shocked, coal-black eyes of the other. Riddle stumbled back in surprise.

"I got your diary because you're my soulmate and I've been trying to piece you together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I spent some time freaking out about if Tom was in character enough or not. Then I just said screw it, he's a teenager who has been trapped in a diary for 50 years. It will be okay if his evil, overlord persona is a bit rusty.
> 
> Thank you, everyone who has subscribed or bookmarked my story—especially those who have left comments and/or kudos.
> 
> For those who still have finals: I am so, so sorry (Hope this brings cheer).
> 
> For those like me who are done: Happy Holidays!


	15. And Molly Says: You Shall Not Pass!

Chapter 14

" _You're my soulmate," he finally responded, green eyes staring into the shocked, coal-black eyes of the other. Riddle stumbled back in surprise._

" _I got your diary because you're my soulmate and I've been trying to piece you together."_

* * *

"You lie," the teenage Dark Lord snarled.

"I do not," Harry snapped back.

It might have been decades for him since the Umbridge fiasco, but he still could never stand for someone calling him a liar. If he had anything so say about it, he would not be receiving permanent scars from that poisonous toad in this lifetime.

Tom's irises turned red and stayed that way. The other teen's magic lashed violently against the Man-Who-Conquered causing the Savior's back to dig sharply into the stone wall behind him.

"I cast the spell myself," Riddle said, voice deadly calm. "It came back negative. I. Have. No. Soulmate."

For a moment Harry could only stare at the seething teenager in front of him. There was a spell which allowed you to know if you had a soulmate, and the teen had cast it on himself sometime while he was at Hogwarts.

Tom Riddle. The fledgling Dark Lord. Cold-blooded murderer extraordinaire. The same teenager who would grow up to wage war on the Wizarding World of Great Britain, twice, had cast a spell to see if there was anyone out there how would be his equal, his match.

Harry felt a wave of empathy bubble up inside him but not pity. He knew the Slytherin looming above him would detest any sign of pity.

"Cast the spell again," the Savior demanded, emerald and ruby gazes clashing. The Man-Who-Conquered did not fight against the violent magic that pinned him in place. He simply stared at his counterpart.

The young Dark Lord waved his hand, magic swirling to obey. Harry almost rolled his eyes. Of course the show off would cast the spell silently and without a wand. Though, the fact that they were both in the diary that contained the horcrux probably meant that Riddle didn't need a wand to direct his magic.

Harry didn't have time to give more thought to the metaphysics of casting magic in what amounted to a soulshard's headspace because a brilliant cord came into being between him and the other teen. It was ethereal and insubstantial but there all the same. The cord wafted through the air as if on invisible currents, but it was clear that the rope connected the two of them.

At first the Man-Who-Conquered thought the cord was connected through his scar where the horcrux inside him resided, but a glance at its origins on Tom showed that the connection was settled more on the crown of their heads. He vaguely recalled glimpsing a chart in his divination textbook that had something to do with chakras or whatever but he hadn't paid it much mind.

The cord between them disappeared and in his peripherals Harry noticed similar but more translucent cords, which drifted off into the distance, also fade away; however, his focus was on Tom who had staggered back looking stricken and about as uncomposed as the Savior had ever seen the other.

"That's impossible," the fledgling Dark Lord exclaimed. "All the research clearly stated that soulmates are connected from birth. Some philosophers even speculated that soulmates were connected beyond that. Even if the other half hadn't been born yet there would still be a sign. Soulmates are never born so far apart."

The green-eyed wizard suddenly realized the other was rambling. Tom seemed to have forgotten him in his academic crisis and was pacing back and forth.

"You made me your soulmate," Harry finally interjected before the other could get too lost in thought.

"That's impossible." The other teen whipped around to face him. "Soulmates cannot be made. They just are."

"Nothing is impossible with Magic," the Savior rebuked, jutting his chin out in stubbornness. "Especially when you go messing around with soul magic and horcruxes."

"What does this have to do with horcruxes," Riddle demanded, once more in control of himself.

"When you go tearing your soul into itty bitty pieces you leave it a bit unstable," Harry retorted. Unable to help himself he rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Bits tend to flake off and lodge themselves into the foreheads of conveniently placed, innocent babies."

This caused the other teen to pause and with the sharpness Tom Riddle was renowned for in his Hogwarts years the fledgling Dark Lord came to the only conclusion.

"You're like me. A horcrux."

"Bravo," the Man-Who-Conquered muttered, feeling a bit testy though the other didn't pay him any attention.

"A living horcrux. My horcrux," Tom said, suddenly back in Harry's space.

The teen crowded the shorter wizard's space possessively reaching out to lightly stroke fingers along the Savior's cheek. Red faded away to leave soot colored eyes staring into green. Harry had trouble gathering his thoughts due to the other's proximity and magic, but he finally gathered his wits enough to shove the other away.

Or try to.

Riddle wouldn't budge.

"Woah, there Mr. Possessive," was his exasperated response. "Mind giving me a little room. There is such a concept as personal space. You should respect a wizard's bubble."

"Why," Tom whispered, leaning inexorably closer and sending Harry's thoughts to scatter to the winds. "You're mine. My horcrux. My soulmate. You contacted me, remember? What was it you called me? Wasn't it… Sexy?"

Mayday. Mayday, was all Harry could think. Somehow, his smart-mouth had come back to bite him in the arse. In a panic, he used his magic to shove back the taller teen and give him some room to breathe.

"Okay, chill," the Man-Who-Conquered gasped when there was a reasonable amount of distance between them. "You're, like, sixteen. Totally a minor."

The fledgling Dark Lord merely raked his eyes up and down Harry's body in a proprietary manner.

"You're hardly one to talk," Riddle purred. "You can't be older than seventeen."

"You'd be surprised," the Savior mumbled, but Tom managed to hear and gave the shorter wizard a questioning glance.

"Oh, and what do you mean by that?"

"N-nothing!" Harry stuttered not ready yet to explain the finer points of immortality to a someone with confirmed thanatophobia. "I, uh, I should go before someone finds my body and freaks out."

"But you just got here," the fledgling Dark Lord responded before giving the Savior a sly look. "Why write in my diary if you didn't want a little company?"

"Oh, um," the shorter wizard flustered, thoughts flying out the window at the heated look of the taller teen. He ended up blurting the first thing that came to his mind.

"It's just that someone asked me out and it brought back some bad memories and it was awkward overall and I guess I was feeling lonely and—"

The Man-Who-Conquered knew he had made a mistake when Riddle's eyes flashed ruby once again.

"Who dares—"

"Nobody!" Harry exclaimed, gathering his magic to make a quick exit. "I've really got to go now. Bye!"

"Wait," Tom called. The desperation just barely in the other teens voice causing the Savior to pause. "At least tell me your name."

The Man-Who-Conquered found himself blushing in embarrassment. How could he forget to introduce himself?

"I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

With that he used his magic to unhook the tethers that were holding his mind captive in the diary. The wizardling came to in his borrowed bedroom, the black journal tightly shut before him and the ink on his quill long dried.

He recapped the ink and used a quick cleaning charm on the quill before sending them back to the desk. The young Savior's mind was buzzing with all that had just happened. It had been…not entirely what he expected. He certainly hadn't meant to give away so much. It had only been his intention to tease the other, maybe befriend Riddle.

The Boy-Who-Lived knew he should probably avoid writing in the diary, but he was self-aware enough that he didn't expect himself to have that much restraint. At the very least, he would avoid being sucked back into the horcrux's mindscape or whatever the sepia-Hogwarts was.

Harry tucked the diary under his pillow and allowed himself to fall asleep. It might have been his imagination but it seemed as if the magic of the diary was reaching out and gently caressing his. Either way he allowed the sensation to lull him to sleep.

He awoke to 20 kilograms of little girl sitting on his chest.

"Wake up, sleepy," a familiar red-head sing-songed, "Mum says it's time for breakfast."

"Ginny," Harry gasped as the eight year old leapt off of him and onto the floor. "What?"

"I told you that you were gonna get the Weasley Brother Welcome," she declared giving him a mischief filled look that reminded the Boy-Who-Lived that this was the same girl-child who had survived eight years with the Weasley Twins.

"I'd hurry if I were you," she said turning to leave the room. "I'm not gonna stop Ronny from eating all your bacon."

Then she was gone. Harry let himself lay in bed for just a moment. Kids and their bounce back, he thought before finally getting ready for the day. He tucked the diary in its usual pocket and headed downstairs towards the kitchen.

Ron and Ginny were already there while Mrs. Weasley was in the background using her wand to clean dishes while simultaneously making more food. Mr. Weasley was off at work according to the family clock. Harry sat down and did his best not to look anywhere in the direction of the red-haired boy next to him.

"Ah, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley exclaimed floating a plate piled high with food over to him. "You be sure to eat your fill now," she said smiling a little too widely.

Ron grumbled jealously about the amount of food on Harry's plate even as the Boy-Who-Lived suddenly remembered his conversation yesterday with the Weasley parents. He wasn't even sure he could eat everything in front of him, but Mrs. Weasley was now watching him like a hawk so he bravely dug in.

The wizardling was only a third of the way through his plate and he already felt full to burst. The young Savior was wondering how he was going to politely excuse himself before he exploded when a faint  _CRACK_  sounded from outside.

The top half of the back door was open so they could all watch the approach of the esteemed Albus Dumbledore. The Boy-Who-Lived was wondering what the Headmaster was doing here, but a glance at the Weasley Matriarch's face turning red in righteous anger gave him some clues.

Once the old goat had reached the door Mrs. Weasley gestured with her wand to let him in.

"Come in, Albus," she said tersely. "We're just having a spot of breakfast."

"Ah, yes, yes," the old man said, twinkle full blast. "Alas, I just came to speak with young Harry about his relatives. It won't take but a moment." The venerable Headmaster was already gesturing towards the young Savior.

"No."

The kitchen froze, even the dishes stopped cleaning themselves. Mrs. Weasley was glaring at the old man face turning redder than any of her children had ever seen it.

"No," she repeated and the Boy-Who-Lived took a moment to revel in the absolutely flabbergasted expression of the old goat's face.

"You and I are going to have a little talk, Headmaster," the red-headed woman demanded. Her voiced gentled a little as she turned to address the children in the room. "Why don't you all be a dear and go play for a bit. I'll call you back to finish breakfast when we're done."

Ron and Ginny were swiftly out the door heading towards the living room far too familiar with their mother's temper. Harry was the last out and the door quickly banged shut behind him. The wizardling found himself face to face with the other two children both clearly intending to eavesdrop.

Harry had the same intentions and only hoped that the adults would forget to put up a silencing charm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm putting this chapter up as a Yuletide gift. I hope you all have a blessed Yule, Winter Solstice, and in the next few days a Merry Christmas!!!


	16. Into the Woods, Then Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Year, New Chappie!!!
> 
> Gratuitous Molly getting onto Dumbles because i needed it.

Chapter 15

_The wizardling found himself face to face with the other two children both clearly intending to eavesdrop._

_Harry had the same intentions and only hoped that the adults would forget to put up a silencing charm._

* * *

They did forget and after only a moments pause Dumbledore's voice filtered through the door.

"Molly, dear girl, this is hardly necessary—"

"They were starving him, Albus!" There was the Weasley Matriarch's familiar howler-screech and the three eavesdroppers flinched.

"Surely the boy was merely exaggerating," the old goat tried to reason and Harry found himself gritting his teeth. He might have managed to feed himself this go around, but last time he had definitely been starved.

"The boy stashes food in his room!" Molly's voice reached an new octave of enraged and the young Savior could just picture how red her face must now be. "He thought Arthur and I would decide to stop feeding him! Whoever you left the boy with were clearly unfit to raise him."

"It can't have been that bad," Dumbledore continued to claim, voice sounding his most grandfatherly.

"Harry barely knows how to act like a child," she angrily rebuffed. The young Savior couldn't hold back a cringe, he thought he'd been better at hiding his demeanor. Of course, a woman who raised seven children would be able to spot him out.

"He's painfully polite all the time," the older woman continued now sounding more said then enraged. "He's awkward when he plays with Ginny and Ronald as if he's not quite sure he's doing it right. The look in his eyes…it's like he's aged beyond his years, Albus."

There was a moment of silence. It appears even the Headmaster could be knocked speechless. Ron, Ginny, and Harry pressed closer to the door. The siblings were giving the Boy-Who-Lived confused, pitying looks, but he ignored them and focused on what would be said next.

"Those Dursley's must have been the worst sort of Muggles," Mrs. Weasley continued sounding determined. "Mark my words, Albus. He'll not be returning to them. I won't have it."

"I see," Dumbledore responded. Harry wished he could see the old geezer's face because his voice gave nothing away. "You've given me much to think about, Molly."

"I must get back up to the school," the Headmaster continued. "I'll be in touch."

There was the sound of the back door closing and the  _CRACK_  of disapperation. Mrs. Weasley let out a long-drawn sigh. Suddenly the door they were hiding behind swung open and they all toppled into the kitchen.

"Come finish your breakfast dears," Mrs. Weasley said not commenting on the fact that they had been listening in when they weren't supposed to. Both Ron and Ginny rushed to the table to finish their meals, not wanting to test the limits of their mother's temper so soon after a blow up.

Harry hesitated in the doorway, still not hungry and not wanting to stick around in the heavy atmosphere of the kitchen. The young Savior figured he now had a valid reason to skip out on the rest of breakfast.

"Might I be excused, Mrs. Weasley," he asked, only wincing a little at the politeness because she had just mentioned it.

The red-headed matriarch studied him for a moment before giving a gentle nod.

"Yes, of course dear," she said gathering some biscuits and folding them into a napkin before handing the bundle to the wizardling. "For later, if you get hungry."

The Boy-Who-Lived accepted the food and gave a small nod of thanks before bolting out the backdoor and out into the countryside. He tucked the biscuits into a pocket and let his feet carry him towards the woods where he and Luna would often explore.

She wouldn't be there, he knew. Something about her and her family going on an expedition to find some creature which would only come out around yule. The wizardling just planned to wander around for a bit.

A brisk wind reminded him that it was winter. They hadn't had snow yet, not like there would have been if they were in the mountainous area of Hogwarts where at this time of year the grounds would already be covered in white fluff. The Burrow was far enough south that so far the weather was just cold.

Harry absentmindedly cast a warming charm since he hadn't grabbed any of the winter gear the Weasleys had provided him. He drifted through the woods lost in thought. It was nice to have Mrs. Weasley stand up for him. His first childhood hadn't seen much in the way of protective adults.

His adventures at the school alone should have been contested by someone, and there had been concern, yes, but not really the parental type, just worry more along the lines of distant caretaker probably common in boarding schools. Sirius had come closest to showing that level of care, but the man's experience with Azkaban had left the old dog with a few loose screws.

Not really the best role model for a troubled teen. He could admit that now. Hopefully, after the holidays Harry could start working on his godfather's release. Sirius would actually be able to get the help he'd need after almost a decade locked away with dementors instead of being on the run as a convict.

First, he'd have to make a plan to catch out a certain traitorous rat and make sure the rodent didn't escape. Remus was invited to the Burrow for Christmas dinner and since it was nowhere around the full moon the werewolf had no excuse not to be there. It shouldn't be too hard to stage a discovery. With any luck the Marauder would recognize his old friend.

The young Savior's planning was interrupted by a tingling sensation of magic which mean that he had crossed a warded boundary. The Boy-Who-Lived glanced around to discover that he had travelled further than he'd intended and before him was another wizardry home.

The residence was not as obviously magical as the Burrow, with it's precariously built upon appearance, or the Lovegood home, with it's magical, unkempt garden, but there was still a distinct feel in the air of Magic. It seeped into the land, a sign of a witch or wizard having lived in an area for a long time.

The wizardling searched his memories for the other Magical families which lived around Ottery St. Catchpole, but before he could recall the front door of the house opened and Harry felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. Standing in the front door was Mrs. Diggory.

He still remembered her even after all the years he'd lived because Cedric's death had hit him so hard. The Hufflepuff's demise was the first true casualty of war Harry had experienced. Even though the young Savior had witnessed (and in part been responsible for) the death of Quirrell, Cedric Diggory was the first death the Boy-Who-Lived had internalized and been deeply affected by.

Looking at the woman now he was happy to see she without any markers of grief. There were no lines of sorrow around her eyes. Said eyes had finally spotted the young Savior and were now glancing at him with concern.

"Hello, young man. Can I help you? Are you lost?"

"Oh, um… I was just wandering around. I didn't think I'd gone so far." He decided to answer honestly.

Mrs. Diggory looked him up and down, frowning, "You don't even have a cloak on. Come in before you catch your death!"

The wizardling followed her into the house, mildly relieved that Cedric would still be at Hogwarts for another week and that his father was probably still at work. The former because he wasn't quite sure how he'd react to his (future?) classmate and the latter because Amos Diggory tended to get on his nerves.

He followed Mrs. Diggory into a cozy kitchen. She directed him to the table while making him a cup of hot chocolate which he gladly accepted as warming charms could only carry a person so far. The drink was delicious and he could tell it was made from Honeydukes finest chocolate. Cedric's mother settled across from him with her own cup.

"Now that we've got something to warm us up, we can introduce ourselves. I am Hollis Diggory," she said.

"Er, I'm Harry. Harry Potter," he responded automatically before internally cringing and bracing himself for her response.

Mrs. Diggory glanced at his forehead, but that was all the reaction she gave which was a great relief for the young Savior. She continued to sip her hot chocolate before asking another question.

"Well, Mr. Potter, can you tell me what you were doing wandering around the woods alone and underdressed?"

Harry could tell she was asking merely out of concern. The Boy-Who-Lived hadn't gotten a chance to come to know his fellow Tri-Wizard Champion's mother well in his previous life due to both of their grieving, but he remembered her as being kind. She was probably where Cedric got most of his caring nature.

"Just Harry please, Mrs. Diggory," he responded, then sheepishly, "and I forgot to grab a cloak. Usually, Luna and I explore the woods, but she's gone with her family so I was just wandering around."

"Then feel free to call me Hollis or Holly, dear." Mrs. Dig—Hollis replied. "You know the Lovegoods?"

Hollis Diggory had a kind aura about her which put the young Savior at ease. So he had no issues with answering her questions, and, even though Cedric was still alive and well, Harry had never gotten over his guilt for the role he played in the Hufflepuff's death. He would gladly answer her.

The Boy-Who-Lived nodded, "Yes, though I've only really met Luna. We ran into each other one day. I'm staying with the Weasleys you see."

"Mrs. Weasley let you out without a cloak? That seems unlike her." she said in concern.

"She was a bit distracted," Harry tried to ease her, "Headmaster Dumbledore visited this morning."

"Was it about those two trouble makers of hers?" Mrs. Diggory asked. "Her twins started their first year with my own son. They are in a different house then my Cedric, but he's owled me several times about their misdeeds."

"Oh, no," Harry denied. "It was nothing related to them," he hesitated before deciding to open up a bit more. "He came to talk about me actually."

Hollis Diggory looked at him, her eyes the same grey as her son's, but she didn't pry which the young Savior was thankful for. They finished their hot chocolates in a peaceful silence before the Boy-Who-Lived noticed it was getting close to noon.

"I should head back before I miss lunch," he told the older woman. "I wouldn't want Mrs. Weasley to worry."

Mrs. Diggory gave him a kind smile before responding, "I can't let you go outside without something warmer to wear. Let me get you one of Cedric's old cloaks."

"That's okay Mrs. Hollis," Harry tried to decline, "its not too far to the Burrow. I can make it there fine dressed like this."

She would hear none of it and in a matter of moments had returned with a warm looking brown cloak.

"This is one of my son's old cloaks which he outgrew. It should fit you alright," she draped the cloak around him in a motherly fashion before seeing him out the door.

The Boy-Who-Lived had to admit that it was warmer to be outside with a cloak instead of just a warming charm. He smiled up at Mrs. Diggory, "Thanks, Mrs. Hollis. I'll be sure to return this to you later."

"No worries, Harry," she replied. "Like I said, its old and no longer fits my son anyway. Now you be careful and give Mrs. Weasley my season's greetings!"

With one last wave he left the Diggory property and made his way back to the Burrow. He only had to cheat and use a point me spell a couple of times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to try and speed things up, but I also don't want to skip the things I have planned <_<
> 
> I just want to get little Harry to Hogwarts already TToTT
> 
> It won't change where I put him, but I am curious to know...Which house do you think this Harry will go?


	17. The Fastest Force is the Rumor Mill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, I know it’s been a while, but I needed to focus on my last semester of college. BTW I graduated. YAY! Hopefully this extended break hasn’t changed my writing style too much. If you guys notice a difference between this chapter and previous ones its only because I’ve been away for a few months and need to get back into the swing of things. XD

Chapter 16

_With one last wave he left the Diggory property and made his way back to the Burrow. He only had to cheat and use a point me spell a couple of times._

* * *

 

A week and a half later saw Harry making his way back to the Diggory house, Cedric’s old cloak tucked in his arms. He had made sure to remember to grab his own before making his escape from the Burrow. Three days ago the older Weasley boys, minus Bill and Charlie, had returned for the holidays, and Harry was feeling distinctly crowded.

He had been alone for so long in his other life, and even though he’d missed them, the Weasley children were too boisterous. It was also difficult for him to keep up his act when Percy carried around his ‘pet rat’ aka Peter Pettigrew. It had taken all of Harry’s self-restraint not to expose the traitorous coward the moment he’d laid eyes on him.

Unfortunately, if he had done so, questions would have been asked and suspicion cast (probably by a certain old goat) far too early then he was willing to handle at this moment. Harry’s best bet was to allow Remus to make the discovery. He already had plans to dose the rat with a sleeping potion to minimize Wormtail’s chances of fleeing.

Harry felt the tingle of wards as he crossed unto the Diggory property. He knocked gently on the door and only had to wait a few moments before he came face to face with the person who had haunted his nightmares as a teen and well into his adult life.

Before him stood a young Cedric Diggory. He still had the rounded face of youth; however, there were hints along his jaw and cheekbones of the fine young man he would become.

“Hello,” the young Hufflepuff greeted, “can I help you?”

“Er—yes,” Harry replied, a little off kilter because he was seeing Cedric _alive_ even though he had expected it.

“I came to return this,” he said shoving the cloak bundled in his arms at the other boy. “Your mom lent it to me last week.”

Cedric fumbled with the fabric, caught off guard, but he eventually settled it in his arms. “Oh. Um. Thanks,” he said, looking baffled.

They stood there in awkward silence for a few seconds before a voice called from further in the house, “Cedric, honey, who’s that at the door?”

“It’s,” the Hufflepuff paused, probably realizing he didn’t know the name of the younger boy, “a boy, returning a cloak. Um…”

Footsteps approached and soon Mrs. Hollis appeared in the doorway. She smiled kindly when she saw who was their visitor.

“Harry,” she beamed, “good to see you again! Come in out of the cold,” she gestured for him to come inside while Cedric moved out of the way looking at him curiously.

Mrs. Hollis took it upon herself to make introductions as she led them into the house. “Cedric this is Harry, he wandered over last week. He’s been staying with the Weasley’s.”

She gestured to Cedric who at some point had gotten rid of the cloak Harry had handed to him. “Harry this is my son Cedric. He’s back from Hogwarts for the holidays.”

Both boys gave each other shy ‘hello’s as they made their way to the lounge. Mrs. Hollis made a gesture with her wand and a tea tray floated towards them as mugs of hot chocolate began to make themselves. Once they all had mugs, she resumed the conversation.

“What brings you by, Harry?” She asked.

“Oh, um,” he stuttered, “I was returning that cloak you lent me last week. Um. Thanks again for lending it to me.”

“I already told you it was no trouble, Harry.” She replied before giving him a surprisingly piercing look. “Now, you can’t have trekked all the way here in this weather just to return a silly, old cloak. Is something bothering you?”

Harry barely contained a blush. Admittedly he’d wanted to see Cedric Diggory _alive alive alive, not_ **_DEAD_ ** , but he could hardly confess to that so instead he replied, “Everyone is home for the holidays, and the Burrow is kinda crowded. It’s… noisier than I’m used to.”

Mrs. Hollis gave him a sympathetic look before turning to her son who had been watching the exchange and silently sipping on his own hot chocolate. “I’m sure Cedric wouldn’t mind hanging out with you for a while.”

Harry wasn’t so sure. His memories of his own children told him that older kids didn’t like to hang out with younger kids, and he was currently in the body of a nine year old. To eleven year old Cedric, he’d practically be a baby; however, the other boy just gave him a kind smile.

“Sure!” Cedric easily replied. “We can hang out in my room since it’s kinda too cold outside to do much.”

They set down their mugs and the Hufflepuff led him towards his room while Mrs. Hollis cleaned up after them.

Harry didn’t quite know what to expect when he entered Cedric’s room, but it was surprisingly simple. The walls were a warm beige and the furniture a similarly warm chestnut. Over Cedric’s bed was a poster of the Montrose Magpies one of the most successful in the British and Irish League. Underneath a single window in the room was a desk covered in first year books with what appeared to be homework in the process of being done.

There was a shelf to the left of the door with children’s books and toys. All in all, the room was surprisingly neat for an eleven year old child. Both Harry and Cedric stood silently in the middle of the room, not quite sure what to make of each other.

Harry figured as the only adult (though stuck as a nine year old) it was his job to break the ice.

“You just started Hogwarts right? Fred and George just started there too. Do you know them?” He asked, trying not to give away any future knowledge.

“Well,” Cedric replied. “I know of them. The twins are in Gryffindor like all Weasleys, and I’m in Hufflepuff, so we don’t really cross paths.”

“Oh, well. What’s being in Hufflepuff like?” Harry asked just to keep the other boy talking.

It appeared to be the right question, and Cedric launched into a vivid description of Hufflepuff life at Hogwarts. The first year didn’t really mention the bias Harry knew the other houses viewed the badgers, but sometimes Cedric’s smile would falter and he would stumble over his words and quickly change the topic.

Harry managed to keep the other boy talking about Hogwarts until about an hour before dinner time. The other boy was giving a rundown of his first year classes when there was a knock on the bedroom door, and Mrs. Hollis peered into the room.

“Your father’s home, Cedric, and dinner’s almost ready,” she exclaimed, before looking at their guest. “Harry, I flo called Mrs. Weasley and convinced her to let you stay and eat here.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hollis,” Harry replied in surprise.

“No worries,” she said giving him a jovial smile. “Now why don’t you come and meet my husband, Amos. 

Both boys obediently followed her into the lounge where an older man was sitting on a blue lazy boy reading the _Daily Prophet_.

“Amos,” she called, causing said man to look up. “This is Harry, he’ll be staying for dinner.”

“Harry,” she gestured towards her husband, “this is my husband Amos. 

Amos Diggory gave Harry a kind smile, eyes traveling lazily over the youth’s face before stopping over his forehead and widening in shock.

Harry realized with dread that somehow during the short trek from Cedric’s room to the lounge his hair had shifted and revealed his famous lightning bolt scar. He braced himself for the inevitable, internally groaning in despair.

“Y-you’re Harry Potter,” the Diggory patriarch exclaimed.

Cedric whipped around and stared at the boy who he had been befriending for the past couple of hours in shock.

“Er—yes,” Harry hesitantly replied. “Nice to meet you Mr. Diggory.”

Mr. Diggory leapt out of his chair, newspaper dropping forgotten to the floor, and grabbed the young seeming boy’s hand in an excited handshake.

“It is an honor, Mr. Potter,” the older man gushed. “Imagine! Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, in my house, about to eat dinner with my family!”

Said boy was using all his self-restraint to keep from lashing out at the man who was about to send him to the floor in his exuberance.

“Now, Amos,” Mrs. Hollis firmly called, voice laced with disapproval, “Harry has been staying with the Weasley’s and he came over to get away from the _boisterous_ atmosphere.”

Mr. Diggory seemed to take the hint or at least the warning in his wife’s tone and finally released Harry’s hand which he’d been shaking far past social norms. Cedric was still staring a little wide-eyed, but thankfully didn’t appear to want to go into fanboy mode.

Suddenly an alarm was sounding from Mrs. Hollis’ wand.

“Oh! That’s dinner ready,” she exclaimed and rushed into the kitchen, calling behind her, “Cedric set the table.”

The Hufflepuff moved to comply and Harry hastily followed, not wanting to be alone with Mr. Diggory in case the other man started gushing again.

“Let me help,” he said, pulling out a drawer that looked like it would hold silverware while Cedric was getting the plates.

“So, Harry Potter, huh,” the other boy said while they were setting the table.

Harry winced, “Yeah, um. Sorry I didn’t say anything. People get kinda weird when they find out.” 

“I guess I can see that,” Cedric replied in understanding. Harry gave the other boy a relieved smile and wondered if he had missed out in his first life by not making any friends from Hufflepuff. 

The boys didn’t have a chance to continue talking as food started to float in followed by Cedric’s parents. Dinner appeared to be shepherd's pie, and they soon all sat down to eat. For a couple of minutes the only sound was of clanking dishes as everyone filled their plates.

“So, Harry,” Mr. Diggory started after everyone had settled, “my wife said you were staying with the Weasley’s? Rumors said that Professor Dumbledore had you locked away in some secret, safe location.”

“Amos,” Mrs. Hollis exclaimed, scandalized. At the same time Cedric gave an upset cry of, “Dad!”

Mr. Diggory appeared unashamed of his blatant prying, and his wife was puffing up and gearing for a lecture. Harry appreciated her and Cedric’s defense, but he didn’t want to start a fight in the Diggory family. With a sudden flash of insight, he also realized now was the perfect opportunity to get his guardian situation into the rumor mill of the Ministry.

With Wormtail’s capture at the hands of Remus (hopefully in a couple of days), now was a good time for people to start wondering about his living situation. Mr. Diggory was a huge gossip. If Harry shared that his current caretakers, AKA the Dursleys (if you could even call them caretakers without insulting all caretakers), had abandoned him soon everyone would hear about it.

Harry decided to answer Mr. Diggory’s question before the man’s wife started to rip into him for being rude to a guest.

“I was actually staying with my aunt from my mother’s side,” he stated, cutting off whatever scolding Mrs. Hollis was going to give.

“Harry,” she tried to interrupt, “You don’t have to answer.”

“It’s okay,” he reassured her before turning back to Mr. Diggory who was avidly staring at the young Savior.

“They were muggles—”

“Muggles!” Mr. Diggory interrupted, “Imagine, Harry Potter, being raised by Muggles!”

“Yes,” Harry stated, a bit terse at the interruption. “They—well, they didn’t like magic or me.”

Harry made sure to stare down at his plate to avoid eye contact while also appearing more like a hurt child. Mr. Diggory was staring at him with a gossips avid eyes, while his wife and son were looking at him with empathy and concern.

“A couple of months ago they packed up and left. Without me,” he had to pause as Mrs. Hollis gave a loud, outraged gasp, “and soon after Mr. Dumbledore came and dropped me off at the Burrow.”

“Oh, Harry,” Mrs. Hollis said, reaching over to pat his hand trying to provide some comfort. Cedric was looking equally upset as his mother at the injustice Harry had apparently suffered for being abandoned.

Mr. Diggory slammed his fists on the table catching everyone by surprise. “The outrage! Muggles abandoning the Boy-Who-Lived! What was Dumbledore thinking, placing you with them? You should have been with a decent wizarding family from the start!”

“Thank you, Mr. Diggory,” was Harry’s soft reply. He was pleased that the conversation seemed to be going his way and decided it was safe to continue to the most important details of his backstory. 

“Mr. Dumbledore is still searching for them, but he’s had no luck so far.” He gave a morose sigh, “I’m staying with the Weasleys right now cause I have nowhere else to go.”

“Oh, you poor dear,” Mrs. Hollis said suddenly scooping extra portions of food onto Harry’s plate to his dismay. “Enough of this depressing topic,” she glared at her husband who finally looked ashamed.

The rest of dinner was spent in light conversation. Cedric told Harry more about Hogwarts while Mr. Diggory spoke (more like bragged) about his job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.When they had finished eating Mrs. Hollis ensured that Harry got double helpings of the custard tarts they had for dessert.

Since it was too late for him to walk all the way back to the Burrow Harry took the floo. He wished the Diggory family a goodnight and happy Yule before calling out his destination. The young Savior just managed not to knock anything over as he came flying out of the fireplace. He was barely saved from eating the ground by the surprisingly strong hands of the Weasley matriarch. 

“Careful, Harry,” she said and then tried to dust him off. Mrs. Weasley didn’t use her wand which only caused his to become messier. “Why don’t you go wash up and get ready for bed, dear. I hope you had a fun time at the Diggory’s.”

Harry only gave her a tired nod and headed to his room. He was careful to check his door and room for pranks (two words: the twins). Once he was alone and the door was shut and locked he used a wandless _evanesco_ to clean himself up.

Harry readied himself for bed then made his way over to the desk and pulled out a scrap piece of parchment. He wrote a single word on it and then focused. First he cast the forgery spell to copy a certain someone’s handwriting. Second he focused on dear Lucy, and in moments the piece of parchment went up in flames, but there was no smoke or ashes left behind.

The spell was one that Hermione had developed in his old life, early in the Mundane-Magical war. Owls were too obvious, too insecure, and too slow for passing along sensitive information, and not everyone could cast a messenger patronus. The floo network didn’t work either because one first had to find a fireplace which was connected to the network.

Hermione’s spell was called Fire Sending. The castor had to focus on the recipient and cast the spell _ignemissis_ . The wand movement was a tight triangular motion similar for the movements of _incendio_ but ending in a sharp tap on the object. If cast correctly whatever was being sent would fire travel to the correct person.

Magical power determined the size and distance of whatever was being sent. If a wizard wasn’t powerful enough the item wouldn’t send.Most wizards and witches could send a letter a quarter of the way around the world if it was small enough. Harry certainly had the power to send a scrap of parchment to Lucius Malfoy.

His message was short, but he was sure the blonde Death Eater would understand. It simply said:

_Soon_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope ya’ll liked this chapter, though honestly it’s a bit of a filler chapie. Somehow this is also one of my longer chapters... Next chapter will certainly have more action. As a spoiler to make up for ya’ll’s long wait I plan to have Wormtail’s comeuppance as Ch. 17. XD
> 
> I also hope the formatting comes out ok cause I typed half of this on my iPad and not my computer.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who Commented and who Subscribed/Bookmarked/Kudosed my story. I was honestly surprised at how many people were still finding this story after months of my not updating, but I’m glad ya’ll did!!!


	18. Peter Pettigrew, Played by a Pied Piper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot Woot. New Chapter! *Guilty confession* I’ve actually had this ready for a week. Annnnywho...
> 
> Hope ya’ll enjoy. Thanks to everyone who subscribed/bookmarked/commented this story. :D

Ch. 17

His message was short, but he was sure the blonde Death Eater would understand. It simply said:

_Soon_

 

* * *

Harry was tense in the days between his meal with the Diggory family and Christmas. On Molly’s insistence, Remus was to come over for dinner and afterwards the family planned to open presents. He felt a little bad that his plans to capture Wormtail would inevitably put a damper on the Weasleys’ celebrations, but getting Sirius his freedom was more important.

He went over his plan to oust Pettigrew, again and again. Although with his past experience Harry fully expected his PotterLuck™ to kick in somewhere and send his carefully crafted plans crashing to the ground. The best he could do was ensure the rat would give as little trouble as possible.

Two days before Christmas, Harry made sure to stay up all night. At dinner that evening Mrs. Weasley looked at him with concern when he yawned large enough to pop his jaw.

“Harry, dear,” she exclaimed, putting her hand on his forehead, “you’re looking a bit peakish, are you feeling unwell?”

He couldn’t help but lean into the warm presence, “No ma’am, I’m alrigh—”

He broke off with another great yawn and then looked blearily up at the Weasley matriarch, but it was Mr. Weasley who spoke up next.

“Now Harry,” he said looking stern but gentle, by now all the other children had cottoned on that something was wrong and the noise level of the table dropped a few decibels, “you shouldn’t hide it from us if you’re feeling sick.”

Harry couldn’t help but blush at all the attention focused on him even if it was part of his plan.

“I’m not sick,” he denied, and glancing up to see Molly opening her mouth to disagree he quickly continued, “I- I had a nightmare last night and couldn’t get any sleep.”

Mrs. Weasley tutted in sympathy and removed her hand from his forehead to make her way over to the family’s potions cabinet. It was heavily locked (likely to keep the twins away from it) and thus would have been difficult for his wandless abilities to open,hence the charade. 

“You should have come woken me or Arthur, dear,” she said handing him a Dreamless Sleeping draught. “Now take this before you go to bed and you’ll fall right to sleep,” she rested her hand maternally on his head, “should give you at least eight hours of uninterrupted rest.”

He gave her a shy smile before yawning once more, “Ah, could I be excused? I think I’ll go ahead and go to bed.”

“Of course, dearie,” she replied.

Harry bade his good nights to the Weasley family and went to his room. He carefully tucked the potion away in a loose floorboard he kept one of his food stashes in. After restoring his hiding place he changed into night clothes and collapsed gracelessly into bed glad the first phase of his plan had gone off without a hitch.

 

***

 

He awoke the next day to the wonderful aroma of the foods Mrs. Weasley was preparing for Christmas dinner. Harry made his way downstairs after tucking the potion into his spelled pocket next to the diary.  There was a lighter than normal breakfast sitting on the table as the resident cook of the family was toiling away on a feast to rival Hogwarts’. He was the last one up and could tell by the concerned looks he’d been intentionally allowed to sleep in.

It had snowed sometime in the night and all the Weasley children, bar Percy were eager to get outside and play. Harry had other plans. When everyone else scattered after breakfast to enjoy the day he stayed in the kitchen and nervously fidgeted behind Mrs. Weasley who was bustling around and preparing various dishes. 

She gave a little exclamation of surprise when she turned around and finally noticed him.

“Oh! Harry,” she said resting her hand against her breastbone, “I thought you’d gone outside with everyone else.”

He just looked down at his worn sneakers still fidgeting, playing up the shy act. Harry noted absently to himself that his acting skills were improving thanks to all his practice.

“What is it, dear,” she asked him with more concern.

“Well, um,” he looked up shyly through his glasses, “I know you’re gonna be busy in the kitchen all day, but, um, I was wondering if you’d let me cook too? I’d be happy to help?”

“Now, Harry, dear,” Molly said, giving him a gentle admonishment, “you’re too young to be worrying about the cooking. I’ve got everything well in hand. You should go out and play with the others.”

“But I- I,” he interjected before she could shoo him out of the kitchen, “Tomorrow’s Christmas and I wanted to make everyone cookies since I couldn’t get them anything else.”

Mrs. Weasley almost cooed at him, “Oh, Harry, you don’t have to worry about presents. We’re happy to just have you here.”

“It’s just, this is the first Christmas I’ve had with a family since- since—”

He couldn’t bring himself to continue because it had been such a long time since he had anyone to celebrate holidays with.

“I just,” he sighed, “I just wanted to have presents to give out this time.”

Harry heard a sniff before he was engulfed by the motherly redhead. It reminded him of when he was younger (the first time) and getting his first hug from Mrs. Weasley and wondering if this is what it would have felt like to hug his own mother.

“Of course you can bake cookies,” Molly said through her stifled sniffles, “just let me know if you need any help.” 

He was used to baking, having all those childhood memories of cooking for the Dursleys, though he didn’t tell Mrs. Weasley not wanting to upset her more. In no time he had a batch of shortbread cookies in the oven. He carefully shaped them into tree and stocking shapes, leaving one to be misshapen.

He made some purple icing and decorated the cookies once they had cooled. When Harry got to that last poorly shaped cookie he made sure no one was watching and dumped his Dreamless Sleeping potion into the bowl, mixing it well. The drugged icing was slathered onto the bad cookie.

Harry asked Mrs. Weasley to transfigure him little boxes for his cookies. The motherly woman who had been watching him from around her own cooking gladly made him some festive containers. He packed ten cookies into each box, leaving the drugged one as the odd one out.

“What about this one, Harry,” Molly asked him when she noticed the poorly shaped cookie being left out.

“That one didn’t come out right,” he casually explained, “I was going to give it Scabbers so he wouldn’t be left out and since he probably wouldn’t mind the shape.”

“You’re a kind-hearted boy,” she told him as she helped him move the boxes under the Christmas tree.

One box was left on the counter and Mrs. Weasley promised to send it off to the Diggorys when Errol returned. Harry wrapped the tainted cookie in a napkin and put it in his robe pocket to wait for the opportune moment to catch Percy and present it to ‘Scabbers.’

 

***

 

Christmas morning Harry woke up thrumming with excitement. The first thing he did was send a note off to Lucy. It contained a simple command: _NOW_. He knew the Death Eater would use the Malfoy Annual Lights Festival Of Yule Ball (held every Christmas evening, and THE social event of the season, also just called MALFOY Ball) and the rumors which had no doubt spread throughout the Ministry thanks to Amos Diggory to begin petitioning for his adoption.

If things went as planned this evening then his godfather could be tasting freedom by the New Year. Harry knew he was maybe being a bit too optimistic, but as he made his way downstairs he couldn’t help but let the festive atmosphere affect his outlook. The Weasley children had been allowed to go to bed late the night before and as a result breakfast was more of a brunch.

It seemed like Christmas miracles could happen because Fred and George were teasing Percy about bringing his rat to the table.

“Percy,” Mrs. Weasley scolded, “you know you’re not supposed to have Scabbers at the table.”

The normally uptight Weasley child responded, “I just wanted to let him have something nice to eat, he’s been acting odd since we came back from Hogwarts.” 

Harry saw his chance and interjected before anyone else could.

“Maybe my Christmas present for him will make him feel better,” he told Percy, pulling out the napkin with the drugged cookie.

The elder boy took it primly, opening it up while Harry took a seat and filled his plate trying not to seem too invested in what happened next. 

The ugly looking cookie was revealed and Percy thanked him on behalf of Scabbers while the twins teased him about his art skills and Ron grumbled jealously to Ginny about the rat getting a cookie.

Harry barely herd Mr. and Mrs. Weasley scolding Fred and George for picking on him as he saw Percy present the tainted gift to the traitorous rat sticking its head out of his pocket. After a moment or two the fat rat took a greedy bite and the cookie was quickly finished.

Harry tucked into his meal with relief. So far so good he told himself. All he needed was for Remus to recognize his old friend. Of course, knowing his past history he really should have expected unpleasant surprises to crop up.

 

***

 

The unpleasant surprise arrived after dinner and his name rhymed with chore. Remus had shown up for dinner as planned and the rat had been ignorantly asleep in Percy’s pockets for hours. The family had just settled down to open presents when there was a knock on the door.

Mr. Weasley got up to greet their surprise guest and returned followed by Dumbledore. The annoying sparkle in the old man’s eyes dimmed at the sight of Remus and he gave the werewolf Disappointed Look #12™ but didn’t say anything to him, instead giving everyone a seasons greetings.

Percy Weasley chose that moment to take Scabbers out of his pocket, probably concerned about the rat’s extended slumber. Remus’ nostrils flared immediately and his eyes burned werewolf yellow, focused on the rat, even as the gentle man paled.

Albus Dumbledore, not nearly as doddering as he pretended to be, quickly noticed something was wrong and surreptitiously pulled out his wand but kept it hidden tucked into his sleeve. The Headmaster looked between Remus and the object of his focus with sharp blue eyes. 

“Impossible,” the werewolf said faintly as the Weasleys started to cotton onto something not being right.

“Remus?” Mrs. Weasley questioned in concern as Percy, now under everyone’s attention, cradled his rat tighter.

“It can’t be,” the pale man said drawing his wand and getting shakily to his feet.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley soon followed, looking even more alarmed.

The Marauder focused his wand on the rat, but as soon as Mrs. Weasley saw the wand pointed in her son’s direction she turned red-faced and opened her mouth to demand answers, but Remus’ next words cut her off.

“That is no rat,” he exclaimed and everyone stared at him and said rat agog. 

Molly whipped her own wand and levitated Scabbers out of her son’s hands, leaving the rat to bob suspended in the middle of the room. All the children looked shocked and confused, and Harry made sure his expression matched theirs. Dumbledore went from doting grandfather to forceful leader in a matter of seconds.

“Why don’t we send the children onto bed while we handle this,” the old man said, eyes focused on the floating rat.

“But we haven’t opened any presents,” Ron whined with a glance at the Christmas tree.

All the children looked mutinous. Percy looked shell shocked while Fred, George, and Ginny looked like they didn’t want to miss a moment of the action. Harry felt the same, though he was cursing Dumbledore’s presence.

If it had just been Remus, Molly, and Arthur for the big reveal the Aurors would have been called immediately, but with Dumbledore here the others would automatically defer to him. If the old man decided to delay revealing Peter’s status to the authorities they would fall in line.

Harry had no way of telling how Dumbledore would react if they woke Wormtail and the sniveling coward fed the old goat tales of fear and false promises. He wouldn’t put it past the Headmaster to let the rat go in the hopes of benefiting from it later or in some misguided attempt at redemption.

Mr. Weasley’s stern voice broke Harry out of his mental cursing.

“He’s right, this is not matter for children. Off you go,” the Weasley patriarch said, herding them towards the stairs.

Harry was forced along with the others as they all whined and complained.

“We’ll just have to open presents tomorrow,” Arthur told them and then said sternly, “and if I catch any of you trying to eavesdrop you won’t get your presents at all.”

The firm set of his mouth and the red-headed man’s unusual show of authority convinced the children to finally make their way up to bed. Ron tried to engage Harry, complaining about not being allowed to open his presents on Christmas, but the young Savior barely listened. He parted from the others, though they barely noticed, too busy discussing Scabbers, and entered his room.

Harry knew he would not be getting any sleep. Thanks to Dumbledore’s interference he was left guessing on what the outcome of the night would be. Maybe the seeds Malfoy would plant tonight at his ball would still lead to Sirius being freed, but he just couldn’t stand the thought of the rat going free again.

He’d have to wait and see what would happen. Harry was most frustrated knowing there was nothing he could do right now without tipping his hand. He made himself prepare for bed and pulled the diary out of its spelled pocket. He knew of one sure way to distract himself from going crazy with worry.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy.


End file.
